


My Roots Take Flight

by KismetJeska



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean, F/M, Guardian Angels, Hunter Castiel, M/M, Season 4 AU, reverse!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 125,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KismetJeska/pseuds/KismetJeska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- I feel like I've been working on this for the majority of my life! There are seven parts, and it will update every Monday. This fic also comes with a playlist. Every chapter has three songs associated with it- you can download the playlist [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2).  
> This fic has fanart! You can check it out [here](http://gabrielsaunteredvaguelydownwards.tumblr.com/tagged/mrtf+art). If you ever want to draw fanart, you're more than welcome- just make sure you link me it so I can squeal over you forever!  
> A million 'thank you's to my wonderful beta reader, IAS, and to anyone and everyone who's read my extracts, offered support, or is reading now.  
> 

_Serve God, love me, and mend.  
This is not the end._

_\- Sigh No More, Mumford and Sons_

* * *

Dean is raising the whip for the four thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seventh time when somebody interrupts.

"Dean Winchester?" they ask, and he looks at them with wide and hungry eyes. It takes him a few seconds to realise that the name is his, that the words apply to him. _Dean Winchester_. Yes. It is easy to forget who you are down here.

"Come with me." The visitor holds out an arm and Dean looks at it. He looks at the whip in his hand and at the man slumped in chains in front of him- well, the remains of the man. Four thousand, nine hundred and eight-six strokes later, there is not much of him left.

"Dean?" the visitor says again. _Dean._ Yes. Alastair used to say that word all the time, but Dean hasn't seen Alastair or heard his own name in so long now. He rolls the word around his head, again and again. _DeanDeanDeanDeanDean._ He finds he likes the way it sounds- short, clipped, but somehow it feels right. It fits.

He looks back at the whip, and then at the man's outstretched arm. Dean still has fourteen strokes left, and he doesn't think Alastair would appreciate him leaving a job unfinished. Dean doesn't _want_ to leave a job unfinished. But all the same, he can't deny that he's curious. Whoever stands before him is no demon- their features are human, with no hellish distortion beneath the surface- so what are they doing here?

The visitor looks at Dean with patience- and is that sympathy? "It's okay, you can leave him for now. Nothing bad will happen."

Dean snorts at that. _This is Hell. Nothing happens here that isn't bad._ But all the same, he drops the whip. He steps forward and slowly reaches out, feeling a dulled pang of surprise when he catches sight of his hand. It's emaciated, scarred, covered in dirt and blood and burns. He thinks that his little finger is broken, but he can't say for sure when that happened.

Dean doesn't know where they go or how they get there- in a place like Hell, space and distance are obsolete. The place they arrive in looks a lot like a cheap motel room. Dean wants to say that they've left the pit, but leaking out as angry black smoke is the only escape route he's ever heard of, and as far as he knows he's no demon yet.

"Sit down," the man implores him, and Dean gingerly lowers himself onto one of the beds.

"I'm going to need you in better shape than that," the man says, not unkindly, and presses two fingers to the side of Dean's head. When Dean looks down, he finds his body filled out, his cuts healed over, his bones mended. It's an unusual development- he's never been healed this completely before. He wonders when the pain will start again.

The man takes a seat on the other bed, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward intently. His hair is dark and neat and he's wearing an expensive-looking business suit. Dean doesn't recall ever meeting him before.

"Can you talk?" he man asks seriously, and Dean scowls.

"Of course I can talk," he snaps. His conversational skills might be rusty, but he's not a _child._

"Okay," the man says, unruffled. "Good. That'll speed things up. My name is Inias."

Dean nods, distracted. He's determined _not_ to run his hand over the duvet, but the fabric is so damn soft under his skin that he's nearly twitching with the effort of remaining composed.

"I'm here to make you an offer, Dean," Inias explains.

Dean doesn't reply. He's had about enough of offers, actually. He doesn't trust himself not to say 'yes' anymore, so he'd rather they just didn't ask.

"A way out," Inias elaborates.

Dean stares. "Out? Out of where?"

"Out of Hell," Inias confirms. "Completely."

"No torture?" Dean asks, not sure that he's understood. He can't remember the last time the pain was gone for this long, and he feels strange without it. Hollow, somehow.

"No torture. Not for you, or for anybody else."

Dean thinks back to the man he left chained up- thinks of the satisfaction he felt every time he struck him, of the sense of retribution- and suddenly, he doesn't want to be up here anymore. He doesn't want to be in the airy and clean motel room, doesn't deserve the beautiful fabric against his skin. Creatures like him belong back in that deep, dark pit.

"Why pull me out?" Dean asks, because none of this makes any sense.

"Because God has work for you," Inias answers.

For a very long time, Dean says nothing. He feels like he should have more questions or make some clever joke, but nothing comes to mind. With every second that passes he feels more like himself, but it's still been a long time since he had to handle anything other than 'in pain' or 'not in pain _'._ Actually _thinking_ is like picking up a rusty bike and trying to remember where his feet go.

"You're insane," Dean gets out eventually. For some reason, Inias chuckles.

"That's closer to the Dean Winchester I was told to expect," he says.

"There's no God," Dean says, more sure of himself now. "There's Hell and there's Earth and sure, maybe there's a Heaven, but nobody's running the show. No way."

"Then I should enquire as to a promotion," Inias muses. "Because, if you're right, then my boss is dead."

"Wait- what?"

"Everything will be explained," Inias promises, "but not by me. I'm only the messenger- the delivery boy, I suppose. Taking you from A to B."

"And how long have I been at A?" Dean asks cautiously.

"Four months have passed on Earth," Inias tells him. "In Hell… it's closer to forty years."

Dean nods mutely; it was impossible to gauge the time. Inias could have told him four hours or four weeks or four millennia for all the difference it made.

"And this is B?" Dean questions. Inias nods. "What-"

"All in good time!" somebody says from the other side of the room, and Dean blinks because they _definitely_ weren't there a second beforehand. The man strides forward. "You can go, Inias."

"I'll-" Inias starts to say as he stands, but the man clicks his fingers and Inias disappears.

"Where did you send him?" Dean asks. He has visions of Inias taking his place in the pit, and they make him feel sick.

"He'll be fine," the newcomer snorts impatiently. "He's just a little touchy-feely for my liking."

The man stands back and studies Dean for a minute. Dean repays the favour. The stranger is tall and broad, wearing a suit that means business and a smile that Dean doesn't trust. Dean's learned his lesson; he knows better than to trust. His eyes glaze over as memories grab hold and forty years of screams ring through his head.

 _She begged, she said 'please, no, please' as I pushed the knife in, and the blade burned as it cut, cauterised the wounds so they didn't even bleed- and I told myself 'I haven't spilled a drop of blood', like that made it better, like that made it_ okay-

There's a grip on his shoulder and Dean jerks like he's been shocked.

"Back with us?" the man smirks. Dean's thoughts clear, the flashback retreating and irritation taking its place. He's never liked being screwed around.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"My name is Zachariah. I've been waiting a very long time to meet you."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, rising to stand. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is that I can get you out of your swish little placement in Hell. A 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card of sorts."

"But it won't be free, will it?" Dean says. "It never is."

"So cynical," Zachariah sighs.

"What, so you're telling me you don't want anything?" Dean challenges.

"… Okay, maybe I do, but the price really isn't that bad," Zachariah says. "It's certainly better than what you paid for Sammy."

 _Don't call him that._ The thought is vicious in Dean's head, razor sharp, and though Dean doesn't say anything out loud, Zachariah chuckles under his breath before he carries on. "We need your help, Dean. We need you to do a job for us."

"We?"

"Angels," Zachariah says. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Dean is lost for words.

"Angels," he repeats.

"The very thing."

"There's _no_ such thing."

"In that case, excuse me while I have an existential crisis."

"I've never seen an angel," Dean stresses. "I've never even heard of anyone seeing one."

"Doesn't that make you feel special?"

"Angels," Dean says yet again. His head is steadily clearing, but he's still not sure if he understands what's going on. He's still trying to ride that rusted bike, and whilst he's remembered what pedals are and how to push them down, that's all he's got. All he can do is keep on going.

"Look, I get that the whole 'fire and brimstone' thing wasn't great for your IQ, but if all you're going to do is repeat what I say, I might as well just buy a parrot- it'd be about as useful. Nicer to look at, too."

Dean scowls. "What would angels want with _me_?"

"We want to make you a deal," Zachariah says, back in business mode. "If you agree to work for us, you'll be lifted from Hell. Permanently."

"You'll take me back to Earth?" Dean says, suspicion temporarily forgotten. _Sam._

"In a way," Zachariah says carefully. "You'd be going back, but as… Dean Winchester 2.0. What's known as a guardian angel."

"You'd make me an angel?" Dean asks. "Can you even do that?"

"Oh, heavens no," Zachariah says. "We're an entirely different species, infinitely more evolved and generally superior- but I suppose you'd be something vaguely similar. Some people view guardians as human-angel hybrids. I see them more as… humans borrowing a few of our powers."

"And I'd just float around taking care of people?"

"You'd be assigned a particular human as a ward. You'd spend the remainder of their life guarding them, looking after them, making sure they don't go running into traffic and so on."

"And what happens when the- uh, ward- dies?"

"You retire up here." Dean doesn't get it. "Heaven," Zachariah elaborates.

"This is _Heaven_?" Dean asks in disbelief.

"Your version. It takes on a different form for each person. Good memories, places where you were happiest- the things you want the most." Zachariah looks around in disdain. "Apparently you have a lot of sentiment and not much taste."

Dean thinks of how much he'd give to be back on a hunt with Sam, crashing in a crappy motel room like this one, and he has to admit that it makes sense. In fact, it's kind of reassuring. He is Dean Winchester, brother to Sam Winchester, and the numbed haze of Hell is dissipating.

"So I pump out seventy or eighty years guarding some sucker and then spend eternity up here?" Dean asks.

"More or less."

It doesn't make any sense. Dean still can't find a single way to rationalise this, let alone justify it.

"Out of all the people down there, out of every poor bastard in the Pit," he says, his voice low, "why pick me?"

"All will become clear," Zachariah says.

"No, you tell me now. Why me?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No, but-"

"Good," Zachariah cuts him off sharply. "So have I got a deal here, or what?"

"And if I say no?" Dean asks cautiously.

"Back down to Hell. Your loss," Zachariah shrugs. " _Are_ you saying no?"

"No! I'm thinking, okay?" It's a lot to process. He doesn't trust Zachariah, doesn't trust the way his neat white teeth skip over the things he doesn't want to answer- but how could anything be worse than Hell? No matter what the reality is, it has to be preferable to _this._

Dean wants to say yes. He wants to escape, but something's holding him back. Hasn't he cheated death enough already? Haven't enough people-

"Spare me the sob story," Zachariah snaps impatiently- and it finally hits Dean, properly, that Zachariah is reading his mind. That's… concerning. To say the least. "Just say yes, would you?"

"Yes," Dean says, before he can talk himself out of it.

Zachariah beams. " _Finally_. Inias!" he calls, and the man- no, _angel_ \- reappears.

"We've got ourselves a new guardian," Zachariah says.

Inias smiles, and it looks genuine. "Welcome on board, Dean. It's good to have you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says. "So how do I angel up?"

"That'd be me," Zachariah says. He looks at Inias expectantly, who pulls out a small silver dagger, pushes up his sleeve, and calmly slices his own wrist open. Zachariah scoops up some of the blood on the tips of his fingers and uses it to paint his other hand red, reciting something in a language Dean doesn't know. The cut on Inias' flesh closes almost instantly.

Zachariah steps towards Dean, who shrinks back instinctively.

"Hold still," Zachariah orders, and Dean makes himself do so. Zachariah pushes Dean's sleeve up to expose his shoulder, still chanting.

"You might want to cover your eyes," Zachariah breaks off in English. "Calm down, this is perfectly safe."

Zachariah finishes chanting and presses his bloodied hand to Dean's shoulder. For a moment, nothing happens, and then Dean's world explodes into light.

He closes his eyes as suggested, but it does nothing for the pain. It's like having fire stream down his throat, gushing into his ears, squirming its way in through his eyelids. The mark on his shoulder burns hotter and hotter until he honestly thinks he's dying all over again. His insides feel too big for his outsides, bulging against his skin like he's going to burst, and he thinks he's probably screaming but he doesn't think he can stop.

When the pain and light finally clear, he's curled up on the gritty carpet. Blinking, Dean slowly props himself up.

"Oh, but it hurts like hell," Zachariah says casually. "Did I not mention that?"

"How do you feel?" Inias asks, clearly used to mediating.

"Okay," Dean says, and he's shocked to find that he means it; suddenly, Hell feels a very long way away. A brush of pain dances across Dean's shoulder like electricity, and when he looks he sees the outline of a hand seared into his skin.

Unnerved, Dean sits up properly. His eyes widen. "What the-?" He twists, but he can't see anything. Inias chuckles.

"You won't be able to see them," he explains. "But yes, you have wings."

Dean can feel the weight of the wings where they sprout from his back, but when he reaches up to touch them there's nothing there. It feels almost like he's sprouted a second pair of arms, except he's been lying on them all night and now they're numbed and cumbersome. There's a distinct sensation of 'otherness'- the wings aren't his, not really. Dean tries to move them, doesn't think much happens, and decides that the entire experience can be summed up with Pretty Fucking Weird.

"I've got six," Zach says smugly.

"Well, aren't you a special little snowflake?" Dean says irritably, pushing himself up to stand.

"It's complex," Inias says hurriedly, before Zachariah can open his mouth. "Angels have to take vessels to appear to humans- and to you, I'm afraid. You won't be able to see our true forms or hear our true voices without experiencing some incredibly unpleasant side effects."

"So do I have a true form?" Dean asks.

"Not quite," Inias says. "Guardians act as their _own_ vessels. You don't have a true form as such, but taking the grace has some side-effects, one of which happens to be wings. Ours are completely hidden by our vessels, but yours are less concealed and more… stuck on."

"What's grace?"

"What makes an angel an angel," Zachariah says impatiently. "Power, mojo, whatever. Listen, kid, this really isn't in my job description. Inias, pack him off to Anna. She can explain the rest."

* * *

Anna turns out to be a pretty redhead- or an angel wearing one, at least. She stands, apparently waiting for them, in a loosely familiar field. The grass is short and yellowing, the sign of a dying summer, and Dean thinks that he might have once gone to a place like this with Bobby. He's fully expecting Inias to take off without another word, but instead he walks forwards with Dean.

"Inias," Anna greets warmly, but Dean barely notices; he's too busy looking at the sleek, black car she's leaning against.

"Anna," Inias returns. "Ready?"

"I've been ready for thirty years," Anna says. The idea of a hot angel waiting for Dean for that long is kinda cool, though it does bring a vaguely uncomfortable meaning to 'angels are watching over you'.

"Then I'll hand things over to your more-than-capable hands," Inias says.

"Thank you," Anna smiles. "See you soon, I hope." After lingering for a few more moments, Inias disappears, and Anna's attention is on Dean.

"Go on," she says, moving aside. He looks at her. "What? I know you want to."

Relenting, he runs a hand over the roof. It's not really her, but it's a damn good replica. Same licence plate, same army men crammed inside, same tapes sprawled across one of the seats. Dean pats the bonnet affectionately and is creeped out when his wings-that-aren't-there bounce with the motion. _Angel. Right._

"So you're our newest recruit," Anna says cheerily. "It's good to meet you, Dean. I'm Anna."

"Yeah, Mr. Big said." Dean turns away from the car, suddenly self-conscious. "So uh, can all you oversized canaries read minds?"

"Careful," she chastises, but he can see the amusement glinting in her eyes. "You're one of those 'oversized canaries' now."

"Huh," he says. "I didn't think I was important enough for the 'A' word."

"You talked to Zachariah, huh?" she asks, and Dean's expression of distaste gives Anna her answer. "Don't take it personally. He's like that with everyone. And in answer to your question: yes, more or less. It varies depending on your level of power. If you give me five minutes, I can tell you everything you need to know. I usually deal with the newcomers."

"Definitely preferring you to Zachariah so far," Dean says. "So when do I get to go back to Earth?"

"Soon," she says. "I just need to explain some things."

"Sure, I get that- but can't it wait? I've spent forty-years being deep-fried. I want to see my brother."

Something flickers over Anna's face too quickly for Dean to pin down. Paranoia curls in his gut. "Well?" he says. "What aren't you telling me?"

"If you'd give me a chance to tell you anything, this would go a lot quicker," she retorts. Scowling, Dean sits down heavily on the hood of the car. Anna perches lightly next to him.

"Thank you," she says.

"Yeah, yeah. Get to the good part."

"There are different ranks of angel," Anna begins. "Right at the top you've got the archangels like Raphael, but you'll probably never run into any of them. Next, there are the seraphs like Zachariah."

"So he's pretty high up?" Dean asks dismally. _Figures_.

"Definitely," she nods. "He makes a lot of the calls around here. Then you get the 'standard' angels, who are the most common. There are still variations in power, though- I'm the leader of my garrison, so I'm a little stronger than some of the others."

"Where do I fit in?"

"You're the bottom tier," she says honestly. "Guardian angels, cupids, the angels with one sole purpose. Yours is, of course, to protect your ward."

Dean nods. That doesn't sound all that bad- after all, hasn't he already spent twenty-five or so years of his life doing pretty much that? "Do I get any say in who my ward is?"

"Sorry, but no," she says. "Guardians are only assigned to those judged in need of angelic protection. The decision is made by somebody very high up on the command chain- it may be God himself. I'm not sure."

Dean's still not buying this 'God' deal, and he's pretty bitter that he and Sam apparently never qualified as 'in need of angelic protection', but whatever. Bigger fish.

"You have some human qualities, and some angelic," Anna continues. "The wings are a good example- you're powerful enough to have them, but not powerful enough to actually see them."

"They're creepy," Dean complains. "Do they work?"

"Not really," she says. "It doesn't matter- you can teleport."

"Seriously?" Dean says before he can help himself. Teleporting sounds _awesome._

"Seriously," she grins. "You'll be able to take your ward with you if you want, but not anybody else. The same thing goes for telepathy- you'll be able to read your ward's thoughts, but only theirs. You'll be very in tune to your ward's emotions, but-"

"-nobody else's," he finishes for her. "Yeah, I'm seeing the pattern here."

"You'll have increased strength and stamina," Anna continues. "If you get damaged or injured, you'll heal- faster than humans, slower than angels. You can heal your ward's injuries too, to a certain extent."

"How easy am I to kill?" Dean asks. "I'm not much use if a bullet can take me down."

"Some things are fatal," she says. "Other angels, higher-level demons, extreme damage to your vessel- sorry, body- but overall, you're pretty tough."

"But you're tougher?"

"And archangels are almost unkillable," she agrees. "We're less restricted in our powers too- I can read anyone's thoughts or emotions if I focus hard enough, and teleporting other people is easy."

"So basically, I suck," Dean grumbles.

"There is some silver lining," Anna offers. "You won't be affected in the same way by certain traps or spells, and nobody can exorcise you."

It still sounds like a crappy deal, but what can Dean do? "Will I age?" he asks.

"No, and you won't die of natural causes. You won't need to eat, drink or pass waste."

"I can't eat?" he stops her.

"Well, you _can_ , but it won't serve any purpose."

"Oh, it'll serve a purpose alright. How about sleeping?"

"Again, it's not vital, but if you want… technically, it's more of a trance, but I've been told some do dream whilst in it. A lot of guardians use it to pass the time when their ward doesn't need them."

"Wow, that sounds responsible. What if baby wanders into danger while they're out?"

"Trust me, they'd know. You'll have a very deep bond to your ward, Dean."

When Anna speaks again, she sounds sad. "Your default state is undetectable," she tells him gently. "Invisible. You can only become corporeal when you're alone with your ward or other angels."

"Any chance of making a phone call?"

"No. Even when corporeal, the only human who can hear you is your ward."

"And when I'm not corporeal?"

"You'll be unseen and unheard. You can interact with the environment in that form, but it requires a lot of energy and effort, and it's not 100% accurate. Nobody but your ward is to know you're there."

"So you're saying I can't talk to Sam," he says wearily. He'd suspected as much, been sure of it by the time she said 'undetectable', but that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

"No," Anna says. "If you make contact with anybody but your ward- if you even try- the deal will be terminated immediately. Whoever you contact will be punished too."

"One-way ticket downstairs, group discount. Am I right?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," she says. Dean doesn't react. He wonders if it's too late to change his mind- but no, that's just being stupid. One day, when Dean's ward shuffles off the mortal coil, he'll get to see Sam again. That's good. That's enough.

"If I can't even pick up a pen when I've got company, how am I supposed to do any protecting?" he says instead.

"If your ward's life is threatened, your powers will amplify to the point where you'd be a match for Zachariah," Anna says. That cheers Dean up slightly.

"Seriously?"

"It's not always controllable- it's not even always conscious- but yes. I've known guardian angels do incredible things when their ward's safety was threatened."

"Being able to do that kinda thing _all_ the time still seems more useful than randomly hulking out."

"I didn't make the rules, Dean," she says. "Don't forget, your job is to be there for this person- to protect them, yes, but also to care for them. It's not all guns and glory. Sometimes your role will be to give them advice, or even just to listen."

"And here I thought this couldn't get any creepier."

Anna snickers before composing herself. "Sorry about this," she says, then presses her hand onto his ribs.

"Ouch!" Dean shouts as a spurt of pain pierces through him. "What the hell?"

"Sigils," she explains. "They'll let us find you if we need to. Hold still."

Anna produces a pendant and fastens it around Dean's neck. There's what looks like a small, glass bottle dangling from the cord, which he prods at with interest. Anna slaps his hand away.

"Quit it," she frowns. "That's important."

"Really? How come?"

"It's to do with fixing the locus of your grace. I can explain, but…" Anna looks at him. "How advanced is your understanding of geometry?"

"The necklace is important," he says immediately. "Gotcha."

Anna keeps on talking, but Dean's mind is starting to wander. Okay, so he's banned from seeing Sam- but there are ways around everything, right? There's gotta be a way.

"- and you'll be able to see 'invisible' beings such as Reapers," Anna is saying when Dean tunes back in, "but the only things that can see or interact with you when you're incorporeal are angels and some higher ranking demons. You'll need to become corporeal to talk to your ward, though obviously you can still have telepathic conversions."

 _"Obviously,_ " Dean echoes in disbelief. He's starting to feel like a gremlin. _Do not get angel wet. Do not feed after midnight._ "Who _is_ my ward anyway?"

"Would you like to find out?" Anna offers. Dean thinks he would.

* * *

When they get there, Dean starts to wonder if this whole thing is actually just another layer of Hell.

"You're kidding me," he says, staring up at the sign.

"What?" Anna says. "Healthy and happy people don't need guardian angels."

They're standing on a square of grass outside the hospital and, incorporeal or not, a part of Dean still feels guilty when he spies the 'PLEASE KEEP OFF THE LAWN' sign. He watches a couple come out of the building's front door, the man's arm wrapped around his wife's shoulders as she sobs.

"So I'm supposed to spend the next sixty years guarding girl interrupted?" Dean asks, turning to Anna.

" _He_ ," she emphasises, "is thirty already, so I doubt it's going to be that long. Besides, he's being discharged later this week."

"Good," Dean says. Psychiatric hospitals make him uncomfortable. They always seem too happy, too fake, like they're trying to bury the crazies under piles of needlework and sunflower decals. "How long has he been in here in for?"

"Sixteen years," Anna says nonchalantly.

"Sixteen _years_?" Dean yelps.

"Near enough," she says placidly. "He was admitted at fourteen."

"You're asking me to watch over a guy who's spent half his life in an asylum?" Dean says in disbelief. "Seriously? What, I'm supposed to hold his hand and make sure he takes his meds?"

"Stop that," she snaps, and he hears something harsh in her voice- a reminder that she's more than the soft, pretty girl she appears to be. Dean remembers Sam's enthusiastic accounts of 'warriors of God' and thinks that really doesn't want to start a fight.

"This is your _ward_ you're talking about," Anna continues. "He's going be the centre of your universe for the next several decades- and more than that, he's a person, and he's been through a lot. The least you could do is show him some respect."

"Sorry," Dean says grudgingly. He clears his throat. "What's his name?"

"Castiel Mallach," she says.

Dean whistles. "Poor bastard never stood a chance, did he?"

"Apparently he's from a very religious family," Anna explains. Dean imagines a mother rocking her baby at the back of a church, a proud father enrolling his kid in Sunday school, a family holding hands and praying around a table.

"How did he end up here?" Dean asks, and he doesn't know which one of them is more taken aback by how saddened he sounds. Anna hesitates before she replies.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "That's all in the past. Your job is to focus on the present and future- beginning now. Every guardian starts out by just watching their ward- it's a good idea to get a 'feel' for them before trying to make direct contact. I'd like you to spend some time observing Castiel."

"How long for?" Dean wants to know.

"In Castiel's case, I think a few hours should suffice," Anna says. "I'll let you know when it's time for you to introduce yourself."

Great, something else to worry about. "Yeah, about that- how am I supposed to break the whole 'angel' thing to him?" Dean questions. "What if he freaks? I'm pretty sure I'm not meant to give my ward a psychotic break."

"That is… a concern," she admits. "But I have faith that he'll cope with it."

"What do I do if he starts screaming?"

"Handle it."

"What, by myself?"

"You're his guardian angel," Anna says. "He's your ward. It's kind of in the job description. He might even be able to sense that, to a certain degree; he might find himself inclined to trust you."

"You keep saying all this crap about our super-special bond, but I don't _feel_ anything," he complains. "You said I'd be able to sense my ward, but I can't. I can't 'sense' a damn thing other than my freaky ghost wings."

"I haven't linked you to him yet," Anna explains. "I left it for last, sorry- I didn't want to distract you. The sensation can be… overwhelming, at first."

"Because that doesn't sound terrifying at all."

"It won't hurt," Anna promises. She begins to chant something in what sounds like the same language Zachariah used, touches a hand to her chest, and then lays the same hand neatly on the space where Dean's heart is. A few words later, she pulls away and looks up expectantly.

"I don't-" Dean begins, and then it hits him. It's the sharp snap of a fishing line being pulled down, suddenly laden with _something,_ but it's happened to his mind. He stumbles under the force of it, a pull-like tension in an over-stretched spring.

"Careful," Anna says, placing her hands on his shoulders and helping him to steady. "I'm told it gets easier to cope with. Dean?" she says when he doesn't reply. "Dean, focus."

"Sorry," he says, voice foggy. The initial lurch has passed, but it's difficult to tear his mind away from the presence. It's blaring, shouting at him- or maybe it's shouting _for_ him. He can't tell.

"I think you probably need to go," Anna laughs. "They say it's worse when you've been away from your ward for too long, and as you've technically been away for thirty or so years-"

"I get it," Dean says. "How do I get inside?"

"Teleport."

"You know, you make that sound so easy."

"It is. Reach out for Castiel, and you'll find him."

"I've never even been inside the building."

"Humour me. And remember, stay incorporeal until I tell you otherwise. I'll be watching."

Dean rolls his eyes before he closes them. _This is ridiculous._ If it can get rid of this incessant tugging at his mind, though, he'll try anything. _Cue Castiel,_ he thinks, focusing on the presence lurking at the corner of his mind.

He opens his eyes, ready to tell Anna it didn't work, and finds himself facing a closed door. When Dean turns around he sees he's in a corridor, and a few curious steps down it bring him to an oversized lounge area. It's clearer now that this place isn't intended for short-term stays: the patients all wear their own clothes, and Dean can only pick out the staff by the identity cards strung around their necks.

An insistent yank at his mind sends Dean stumbling back to where he arrived. He knows he's standing outside the right room- he can _feel_ the man's presence on the other side of the door like you can feel heat from a fire.

"I'll be damned," Dean mutters to himself, and then somebody walks through him. It reminds him of being not-quite-dead after the crash, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Dean closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he's stood in the centre of the bedroom. Castiel- and he _knows_ it's Castiel, would recognise him anywhere- is sitting in a chair by the window reading, curled up like a cat.

Dean's initial reaction is that he doesn't _look_ crazy. He knows you can hardly judge mental stability with a glance, but whatever Dean was expecting, this guy isn't it. He's wearing a trench coat, which is probably a bit eccentric, but it's hardly hurting anyone. Castiel has dark, ruffled hair, and he's not emaciated or obese, and when he looks up as a nurse passes by his eyes are a blue so bright Dean wants to call it ridiculous.

The tension in Dean's head is relaxing and whilst he can still sense Castiel, it's not overwhelming or even particularly unpleasant. Experimentally, Dean lowers himself into a chair on the other side of the room and is pleased to find he doesn't crash straight through; maybe it's down to the same whacked-out physics that means he doesn't fall through the floor.

It's a lot to take in in a very short space of time, and Dean has to admit that it's good to get the chance to just sit back and examine the person he's been tied to. _I'm gonna be seeing that face a lot,_ Dean thinks as he settles down to watch and wait.

* * *

Watching is fucking boring.

In nearly three hours, Castiel doesn't move an inch _._ He sits and he reads, and he doesn't even _fidget._ He's perfected the art of utter, intense concentration, and it's kind of unnerving to watch.

It's also fucking boring.

By the time Anna finally reappears, Dean's taken to tracing out Tic-Tac-Toe games on the wall. She smiles in greeting; he does not smile back.

"Am I seriously supposed to spend the next fifty years watching him _read_?" Dean says irritably. "If that was 'getting a feel' for things, then things are going to suck."

"It was a little more than that," Anna admits. "Like I said, all guardians are meant to spend their first few hours back on Earth just observing their ward- and, well, not everybody does as they're asked. Some make a break for it as soon as they think we're gone. They try and contact family or friends, that kind of thing."

"What happens to them?"

"They don't get to be guardians," Anna says, and there's a tightness in her voice and a look in her eyes that sends a shiver down Dean's spine. Truth be told, he'd thought about running, but he's not that stupid yet. There's no point in trying to find Sam until the angels take Dean off celestial probation.

"So what, it was a test?" he asks.

"You passed," is Anna's only answer. Dean thinks this might be a good time to change the subject.

"Now what?" he asks.

"You're ready," Anna tells him. "Good luck, Dean. I'll be in touch."

"Wait, I don't-"

It's no use- Anna's already gone. Muttering under his breath, Dean turns to face Castiel. Somewhere down the corridor an alarm sounds, a desperate blare that means a nurse needs backup _now_ , and Dean realises that he has literally no idea how to play this. What if him showing up shoves Castiel off the deep end? Turns him into a drooling wreck? Dean wonders if he'll end up having to smother the guy with a pillow.

It was so much simpler with Sam. Their relationship was laid out in clear terms from day one: Dean was to protect Sam, both parties knew, and neither party had wings. _Simple._ But the thought of Sam- of never seeing him again- makes Dean want to lie down and stop thinking for a while, so he buries it and focuses on the task in hand.

Dean tries to think himself into existence and immediately feels more 'solid'- heavier, somehow more conscious of his weight against the floor. He allows himself a moment of pride- _I am rocking this 'angel' thing_ \- before bracing himself. _Here goes nothing._

"Castiel?" he says. The man jumps at the interruption- and again when looks up and sees Dean- but recovers quickly.

"Yes?" he asks, setting the book aside.

"I'm-" Castiel's looking at Dean with curiosity, but not fear. Dean supposes that after sixteen years in hospital, you quit questioning who the strangers coming into your room are. "Okay, listen, because this is gonna sound ridiculous, but-"

 _Eh, what the hell._ There's no point in pussyfooting around, Dean decides. This can only go badly, so there's no point in worrying about _how_ badly it goes.

"My name is Dean." He spreads his hands out. "I'm an, uh, angel of the Lord." He pauses. "Or something like that."

He waits for the meltdown.

"If that's a metaphor, I don't know the intended meaning," Castiel says. His voice is deep and his words sound sincere. Dean tries again.

"No, no metaphor." Dean grins broadly. "I'm your guardian angel." It sounds cheesy, sure, but there's something nice about it. He gets to give this guy a better life. That's got to be better than an eternity spent cutting people up.

A few seconds of silence pass. Castiel picks his book back up.

"Castiel?" Dean says once it becomes clear that the other man isn't going to reply.

"You aren't real," Castiel says, not looking up.

"Uh, yeah, I am."

Castiel's lips pull into a thin line, and he shakes his head. "No," he says.

"Sorry, man, but this is happening."

"This is in my head," Castiel says tightly, "and I've come too far to slip back now." He's still refusing to look up, like maybe Dean'll pull a Tinkerbell and disappear if nobody believes in him.

Dean tries again. "Listen," he says uneasily. "I get that this must be hard for you, I do- but trust me, I'm real. I think I'd know if I wasn't."

Castiel doesn't answer.

"Castiel? Hey!"

Nothing. Dean's starting to get annoyed.

"Jeez, have some faith, would you?" he snaps.

The words are offhand, plucked from nowhere, but they seem to hit Castiel hard.

"Faith," Castiel echoes. He lowers the book and sits in silence, clearly working through something. When Castiel finally looks up at him, Dean gives a small, sarcastic wave.

"I don't understand," Castiel says. It's hardly rapturous praising of the ground Dean walks on, but it's infinitely better than screeching for a nurse. Dean's going to call this one a success.

"I know it sounds crazy," Dean says, "but I'm not some weird-ass hallucination, I swear." _And now you're making fun of a mental patient for his hallucinations. Smooth, Winchester._ "Not that hallucinations are weird. I mean, they are- I've had them, they suck- but I didn't mean that you're weird because you have them. Or because you don't. Whatever." He gets the impression that, somewhere, Zachariah is laughing at him.

Castiel tilts his head slightly. "You don't seem particularly angelic," he comments. Dean's wings flutter in useless indignation.

"What, and you know what angels should be like?"

"I had pre-conceptions." Castiel rises from his chair and moves forwards, staring like he might find an explanation for all of this written behind Dean's eyes. "Guardian," he states.

"Yes."

"I don't need guarding."

"Excuse me?" Dean says, taken aback.

"I have no need of a guardian angel."

Dean doesn't think that Castiel means for that to be insulting, but it kind of is. "Right, because you're so well-adjusted," he snorts.

"I've been here for sixteen _years_ ," Castiel says, voice tinged with irritation. "Why now?"

"You think I know? All I got told was 'this is your ward, take care of him'," Dean says- and then, childishly, adds "they left out that you were such an ass." Castiel ignores the slur and hones in on a different word.

" _They_?"

"Senior management. Higher-level angels. _God,_ apparently."

"God?" Castiel says, the anger in his tone replaced with hopeful curiosity. His eyes drop from Dean's and move over to the bedside table, coming to rest on a small, black Bible. Dean silences his own noise of disgust. _So not the time._

"Okay," Castiel says eventually, with a slight nod and a step backwards.

" _Okay_?" Dean repeats incredulously.

"I don't claim to understand God's plan, but I trust it." Dean's face must say it all, because Castiel continues. "I believe you. It's odd, but I feel like… like I _know_ that this right. What could that conviction be, if not a message from God?"

Dean might puke.

"So everything's fine as long as the spirit in the sky ordered it?" he says, unable to hold back. Anna did say that Dean's ward would be inclined to believe him, but hearing Castiel try and justify that belief as coming from _God_ is vexing. It doesn't seem right that Castiel would rather trust an invisible, intangible presence than trust Dean.

"Why? Should I be… not fine?" Castiel asks uncertainly. _Yeah, that's great, encourage your ward to freak out. C'mon, Dean!_

"No, no, it's…. fine," Dean says. He's still feeling disgruntled, but he figures he owes Castiel the benefit of the doubt. After all, if anyone ever turns up and tells Dean it's their job to protect him, his response will be 'it's a little late for that, pal'. As far as first meetings go, it hasn't been great, but at least there hasn't been any stabbing.

"I don't know what to say," Castiel says, after too long has passed without anybody speaking.

"Yeah, I get that," Dean says. _Great. Fifty years of awkward silence._ He's almost grateful when a piercing scream rips through the air. Castiel's head snaps towards the noise and it's simply fucking bizarre that Dean can _feel_ his panic, hear it like a siren.

"Don't worry," Dean says. "I'll go check it out." He focuses on the hallway and finds himself standing in it, only to change his mind and return a heartbeat later. Castiel stares, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"I should probably let you know I can do that," Dean says apologetically, and then he teleports away again. He wonders if that's going to make Castiel more or less likely to believe he's real.

Dean arrives by the side of a clearly distressed woman, her arms pinned down by nurses on both sides.

"It's all in your mind, Gemma," one nurse soothes. "It wasn't real."

"It was!" the woman- Gemma- sobs. "I know what I saw. I saw my sister, it was her, she was _there!_ "

The nurses exchange a glance. "Your sister is dead, Gemma," the first nurse says. "You know that."

"Of course I fucking know that! But I saw her, she was _here_ , she was-"

"Let's get you back to your rom," the other nurse says sympathetically. "Dr. Carr can give you something to help you calm down."

"I wasn't hallucinating," the woman objects angrily, but she lets herself be lead back to her room. Shaking his head, Dean turns away. _What did you expect? This is a psych ward. Assume whackjob until proven otherwise._ But when he overhears somebody saying "That's the third person in a week", he freezes in place. He doesn't need his freaky angel ESP for that to set off alarm bells.

"It's not right, Lucy," the nurse continues.

"You know how these things can spread," the doctor replies. "The patients are vulnerable at the best of times, and mass hysteria is hardly unheard of- especially considering what happened to Ingrid."

"Who started this whole thing off!" the nurse says heatedly. "She claims she saw her son, and where is she now? With a nurse at her side, every second of the day, because she tried cutting her own _throat_ open."

"I still don't understand how she did it," the doctor says, with a frustrated air that suggests this isn't the first time she's raised the point. "There wasn't a knife with her- we checked everywhere."

"Who knows? What matters is that she saw something, she tried to kill herself, and now two more patients have reported seeing the exact same kind of thing. What if that's not where the similarities end?"

"The other patients aren't suicidal," the doctor says.

"Neither was Ingrid," the nurse reminds her. The doctor bites her lip. "Maybe we should talk to the patients as a group," the nurse suggests.

"That might be a good idea," the doctor agrees, and their conversation turns to other things.

Dean looks over at the woman's door and wonders if he can walk through walls. He tests the theory. The answer is no, but he can still feel pain. _I got the crappy end of the angel stick._ Grumbling, Dean teleports into her room instead. Something is wrong here, and old habits die hard.

"It wasn't a hallucination," the woman named Gemma is claiming, her voice still shaking but more under control now. "I know my condition, I know I'm not well, but I also know what's real- and this was real. It was my sister, and she was trying to kill me."

"But why would your sister want to kill you?" the nurse asks gently.

"Because she's angry. Because I let her down," the woman says, and lets out a sudden sob. "It's my fault, it's my fault she's dead!" She breaks down into tears then, clutching her head in her hands.

 _Even if this_ is _a hunt, I don't wanna see this._ Dean returns to Castiel's room and flickers back into visibility. Shock spikes from Castiel when Dean appears out of nowhere, but there's not much Dean can do about it.

"Nothing to worry about," he reports. "Someone freaked out, but they're good now."

"Who?"

"Uh, some lady named Gemma. She thought she saw her sister or something. Don't worry about it."

Castiel doesn't press it any further. "So," he says instead. "Teleportation?"

"Yeah," Dean says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "I guess I'd better tell you some more, huh?"

"Please."

"I've been… assigned to you. To protect you."

"From what?"

Dean shrugs. "Anything that might bother you. Like I said: 'guardian angel'."

"For how long?"

"Forever."

"Oh."

"Yeah, that sums it up," Dean agrees. "So, y'know, if you ever need anything- actually, forget it. I'll know."

"How?"

"I can kind of… sense your emotions. It's less creepy than it sounds, I swear. Don't panic."

"I wasn't going to."

"You aren't afraid?"

"You aren't very frightening," Castiel says simply, meeting Dean's eyes as he does so.

Dean thinks of when he stood in a tangle of metal and rock, slowly pouring goblet after goblet of boiling acid into a man's mouth; hearing his wet, gurgling screams, over and over and over until there was nothing left to scream with. It feels like a thousand years ago. It feels like a few hours ago. He makes the firm decision to never, ever tell Castiel.

"Yeah, well," Dean says gruffly. "Moving on."

Castiel's still looking at him, and Dean's starting to wonder if he's gotten into a staring competition without realising it. Maybe the guy's been locked away for too long, because he doesn't seem to understand how long it's normal to hold eye contact for.

"Who was there before me?"

"No one. You're-" Dean says, but stops because Castiel's interest has suddenly sky-rocketed. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," Castiel says.

"You did," Dean insists. "You asked who my last ward was."

Castiel shakes his head, slowly- and now Dean thinks about it, did he actually see Castiel's lips move? Didn't Anna say…?

"Awesome," he breathes approvingly. "I should have remembered but, man, you would not believe the day I'm having."

"You can read thoughts?" Castiel queries.

"Only yours, and that's the first time I've heard anything." Somebody knocks on the door a couple of rooms over. Distracted, Dean glances over at the noise.

 _ **Hello**_ _,_ he hears. Now that he's paying attention, he can tell that Castiel didn't say anything out loud. The words are too clear, too immediate.

"Hey there," Dean grins.

_**I thought that directly at you. I don't know if that makes any difference.** _

"Okay, test," Dean says; if they're going to start sharing headspace, he needs to know where the boundaries lie. "Think of a number. Don't think it 'at' me, just think it."

Castiel nods, and Dean waits. Silence, both out loud and in his head.

"Didn't hear anything," he tells Castiel. "Okay, think of another number."

"Why?"

"I got a theory. Humour me."

"Okay."

Dean narrows his eyes and focuses on Castiel, as hard as he can. At first, he doesn't think it's going to work, but then the ghost of a '7' drifts into his head.

"Seven?"

"Yes," Castiel says, astonished, and Dean allows himself a moment of pride. _Nailed it._

"So what do you think?" Dean says. "I have to concentrate to read your normal thoughts, but anything aimed at me is fair game?"

"That sounds…. plausible."

"Well, I won't go probing for the stuff you aren't sending my way," Dean decides. "I promise."

"Thank you," Castiel says.

"No problem, man. You gotta have some privacy." Besides, what was it his dad always said? _Eavesdroppers might hear things they don't like._

"Will others be able to see you?" Castiel questions.

"Nope. I turn invisible if anyone else shows up." Dean starts to chuckle. "Man, I am going to be so tempted to misuse that."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he says, smile fading. _This guy's your ward, not your friend. Keep quiet and do your damn job._ "Apparently I can still do some basic human stuff- you know, moving things, opening doors- when I go all sixth sense, but I haven't tried that yet."

"You should," Castiel urges. Dean has to admit he's curious, so he lets himself drift out of his solid state. It's surprisingly easy. He turns to the book Castiel was reading and tries to pick it up, but finds his hand sails straight through it. _Great._

"Are you still there?" Castiel asks unsurely.

"Yeah," Dean calls, but Castiel doesn't react. _Obviously._ He turns his attention to Castiel.

 _ **Yeah,**_ he thinks. Castiel jumps, but then a small smile twitches at his lips. Dean guesses that this 'thought aiming' thing works both ways.

 _ **Impressive,**_ Castiel says.

_**Thanks. Gimme a second here.** _

Dean turns his attention back to the book. _You've taken out_ demons _\- you can move a freakin' book._ Dean focuses as hard as he can and, eventually, his fingers close around the thing. It's heavy and he has to concentrate, but he manages to lift it a few inches. The look of wonder on Castiel's face makes Dean want to lift more things, just to prove that he can.

There's a knock at the door, and Dean has the sense of mind to drop the novel. _Floating books can unnerve some people._

"Come in," Castiel says, sitting back down. Dean shifts in place, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic. _If anyone lies down on a couch and starts talking about their feelings, I am so out of here._

The door opens and a man in a white coat steps in. Dean's heart hits his shoes.

"Castiel Mallach?" Castiel nods. "My name is Dr. Smith."

Dean has actually experienced the unique sensation of having his heart ripped from his chest, so he can honestly say that nothing emotional could ever match it- but this about as close as it gets. His chest aches, his stomach churns, and as he looks at the familiar face he thinks that he'd rather be back in Hell than here, sitting in this room, looking at his little brother and knowing he can't say a single word that Sam will hear.

"I'm from a nearby institution- I've been drafted in to help out with some of the things going on here. Is it okay if I ask you some questions?" Sam- 'Dr. Smith'- asks.

"Of course," Castiel says. Sam flashes a tight smile and shuts the door behind him. He takes a seat opposite Castiel, and Dean drifts over, holding his breath even though he knows Sam can't see him.

Sam's… toughened. Maybe it's the phony smile, maybe it's how heavily he sits down, or maybe it's just the blank look in his eyes. Whatever it is, he's different. Dean doesn't like it.

"How have you been feeling?" Sam asks, but there's no compassion in it. Judging by what the staff were saying, Sam's here on a hunt, and whilst the whole 'doctor' thing might be an act, that never mattered before. Every time they pulled this routine- whether they were flashing badges or shrugging on lab coats- Sam's concern was the only thing that wasn't faked. The change unnerves Dean for reasons he can't quite place.

"As ever," Castiel replies. "Though I'm looking forward to Thursday."

"Thursday being…?"

"My discharge."

"Sorry, of course it is," Sam says. "Good to hear. So, Castiel- have you seen anything strange lately?"

"Real or hallucinatory?"

"You tell me."

"Neither."

"No? No visions of… I don't know, family members? Or friends?" Sam presses.

"No," Castiel says. "The hallucinations are still in remission."

 _In remission?_ The phrase snags Dean's attention, but his interest is fleeting. He wonders what Sam's spent the last four months doing. He's obviously still hunting- but is he doing it alone? Dean doesn't like the idea of Sam working cases with no back up.

"Sulphur? No," Castiel's saying, so that must have been a question at some point. _Demons? Nah, this doesn't sound like demons. Think ghosts, Sammy._

"Cold spots?" Sam asks. _That's more like it._

"Uh, no," Castiel replies.

"Anything else you can think of that's been strange? Even if it seems unrelated."

 _ **Do you count?**_ Castiel asks. Dean's answer comes unbidden.

 _**Don't you fucking** _ **dare.**

Castiel visibly flinches at that, and drops his eyes back to the carpet. Dean feels like a dick, but he _can't_ let Sam know. Either Sam will think that Castiel's joking and get upset, or he'll think that Castiel's serious and get upset, and either way they'll all be in Hell by nightfall.

"No," Castiel answers, and Sam's out of his seat before Castiel's even finished the word.

"Well, let me know if anything changes." Sam gives a curt nod as his goodbye, and leaves. Dean follows him through the open door without thinking twice.

Sam repeats the routine on a further six patients, all of whom report the same thing- no hallucinations, no ghosts, no sulphur, no cold spots. There are some interesting variations on 'anything abnormal', but none of it's supernatural.

When Sam closes the door on the sixth patient, he leans back against the wood and closes his eyes, exhaling. He looks so tired and old and so damn _sad_ that Dean would give anything to be able to hand him a beer or tell him some dumb joke. But then Sam straightens up, all signs of weakness gone, and when he moves on Dean follows.

Dodging through doors before they close isn't fun, but Dean's frustration vanishes when they reach the car park and the most beautiful sight Dean's ever seen. He rushes over to the Impala and gently strokes the bonnet, stubbornly ignoring the way his hand dips into the metal.

"I missed you," he croons.

Sam passes him and yanks the door open. Dean hesitates. _I should go back and find Castiel,_ he thinks. After all, that's his job now, and Sam can't even _see_ Dean- he's hardly going to miss him.

But twenty-six years is a long time to form a habit, and just 'letting Sam go' is unthinkable. Besides, Castiel is in a hospital, with staff ready to burst in if he so much as sneezes. He doesn't need Dean right now. _I can spare five more minutes._

Out of the corner of Dean's eye, he sees somebody yank open the passenger side door and gets in. Dean appears in the backseat almost by instinct: a stranger is _in his car_ , and that's not something he's going to let slide. The mystery passenger is a woman with long hair and even longer legs. Dean wonders if Sam's finally found another Jess: someone sensible, someone caring, someone good for him. The idea is a comforting one.

And then two things happen simultaneously: the woman reaches up and pulls the passenger-side mirror down, and Sam glances over and says 'hey, Ruby'.

Dean's seen a demon's true face before- hell, he's seen _Ruby's_ true face before- but it's not something that gets prettier with time. It's a vile, distorted thing that hurts to look at for too long, and even once Dean's gotten over his initial shock, the feeling of unease is hard to shake. Any conflict about where he's going next has well and truly dissipated.

They pull out of the parking lot, and Dean can't help but scowl when he notices that Sam's actually installed an _iPod_ in the car. _If I could, I would_ so _be kicking your ass right now._ Dean's distracted from his irritation by the realisation that there is not enough space for his wings in the back of car, but they are very definitely still there. He elects not to think too hard about it.

"So what did the crazies say?" Ruby asks.

"Well, vic number three was sedated by the time I got there, but the stories from the first two matched up," Sam says. "They were minding their own business when bam, ghost. Ingrid saw her son, Holly saw her husband."

"And they're still saying the ghosts attacked them?"

"Yeah, and victim number one has the gash marks to prove it." Sam grimaces. "The staff said that she tried to kill herself- _she_ argues that the guy had a knife. I'm telling you, Ruby, she's damn lucky that her necklace had an iron crucifix on it. If she hadn't had it to hand…"

"Mmm," Ruby says. Sam carries on.

"Ingrid's son died in a car accident- but it turns out she was driving, and she was _way_ over the speed limit. And Holly, her husband died in a house fire- which started when she fell asleep halfway through cooking dinner."

"So what, vengeful ghosts?"

"Sounds like it."

"Then is this really the best use of your time?" Ruby says irritably. Sam sighs, like he knew this conversation was coming.

"We can't just leave these people, Ruby. We have to help them."

"No, Sam, what we _have_ to do is stop Lilith- or don't you care about that anymore?"

"Of course I do," he snaps back instantly. Clearly, it's a sore spot.

"Then why are you wasting your time on this stupid hunt? If it was demons, I'd understand, but…" Ruby turns her head towards Sam fully then, and lowers her voice slightly. "Do you really think that this is what Dean would want you to do? Take on _ghost-hunting_ cases when the bitch that killed him is still out there somewhere?"

Anger pulses through Dean like fire. "Don't go there, sister," he says softly, and he doesn't care that she can't hear because a part of him would just love the excuse. He might not be able to wield a knife anymore, but there are other ways to kill demons. He's got no problem with experimenting until they work something out.

Besides- if nothing else, she's _wrong_. Dean doesn't want Sam working this case, but he doesn't want him hunting Lilith either. Hell, he doesn't know _what_ he wants.

A big part of Dean wants Sam to just give this up and go back to school. He wants Sam to go to lectures and throw parties and learn to cook on a crappy campus stove, to get a job and meet a girl and have kids of his own, to go to their school plays and parent-teacher conferences and whatever else it is regular families do. Dean was prepared to go to Hell in exchange for Sam's life, and that's what he wants him to have: _a life_. Not some vengeance-driven existence, overseen and manipulated by the black-eyed bitch sitting in front of him.

"I…" Sam falters, but then his face sets hard. "Dean would want me to help people. That's all."

Ruby glares, but Sam keeps his eyes fixed on the road. "There was something else weird," he says eventually. "Ingrid said her son had a strange mark on his arm."

"Like a cut?"

"More like a tattoo."

"How old was the kid?"

"Seven. Hardly the Miami Ink type."

"So what, you think it means something?"

"I think it could do," he says. "Holly said her husband was wearing a coat, so if there was a mark on him she wouldn't have seen it. Once Gemma wakes up-"

"You're going back?" Ruby whines.

"In a couple hours, yeah," Sam replies. "Come on, it's hardly a long journey."

"Why did you even bother leaving?" Ruby says, slumping down in her seat like a petulant child.

"You know why." Sam turns his head and whilst the look he gives Ruby is definitely meaningful, Dean's damned if he knows what the meaning is.

"What's the point if we're only working a dumb ghost case?" Ruby complains.

"We're nearly done with it now- and besides, you're the one always saying it's a good idea," Sam says. Dean doesn't like the sound of that. Anything a demon is pushing as a good choice is bound to be the opposite.

"Yeah, because it _is_ , but I don't-"

Ruby's words disappear as something digs hooks into Dean's mind and _wrenches_. He gasps and doubles over, raising a shaking hand to his head. He doesn't need help deciphering the meaning: _go to your ward._

"… stronger… need to…" Words are filtering through- Dean thinks they're Sam's- but he has to fight to hear them, let alone work out their meaning.

 _Just another second,_ he thinks, gritting his teeth. Picking out Castiel's presence is like finding a bonfire in the darkness, but Sam and Ruby are nothing but needles in a haystack of seven billion people. If Dean leaves before he finds out where they're crashing, it could take him a long time to find them again- by which time, it'll be too late to try and stop whatever terrible thing they have planned. Sam had said they were staying nearby- and if Castiel can just hang on a little while longer-

But there are explosions in Dean's mind, made up of alarms he can't hear and lights he can't see, and he's about to give in and teleport when the feeling suddenly begins to subside. Within seconds the pull is transformed into a faint, trailing thing; 'come when you can' rather than 'go _now_ ' _._

 _What if he's hurt?_ Dean thinks unsurely. It faded so suddenly… _what if he's dying?_ No, surely Dean would feel something like that. _Wouldn't I?_ He closes his eyes and focuses.

 _ **Castiel?** _ Dean attempts to transmit. _**You there?**_

 _ **I'm fine,**_ the answer comes, as clear as if Castiel was sitting next to him. It's not the answer to the question Dean asked, but he's too relieved to care.

 _ **You sure?**_ Dean checks.

_**Yes.** _

_**Want me to come back?** _

_**Are you busy?** _

"It's only because I care about you." Ruby's words reach Dean as she raises a hand to caress Sam's cheek. Sam looks at her with huge, pained eyes, and she sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

_**Well…** _

_**Then no**_ , Castiel answers. _**It's not urgent.**_

 _ **Thanks, man,**_ Dean thinks, and he shuts off from the conversation. He's feeling guilty, but family comes first, and it's not like Dean didn't _offer_ to go back. If the danger was that bad, Dean reasons, then Castiel would have said yes. As it stands, the guy's coped without Dean for thirty years; he can hang on for another thirty minutes.

* * *

It's just as well Dean stayed, because Sam drives past every motel to pull into a _driveway._ It's a full-on gravelled, tree-lined affair, winding its up to a majestic-looking building. The nearest neighbouring house must be a good half-mile away. Dean has to admit that if it was privacy Sam and Ruby were after, they pretty much nailed it.

Sam and Ruby go around the back of the house and Dean follows, passing through a garden that actually has a goddamn _fountain._ He lingers too long, and Ruby shuts the back door before he can pass through it. Dean mutters insults at the oak before teleporting inside, where he finds Sam and Ruby in the kitchen.

Ruby reaches into the fridge and pulls out a beer.

"Ruby!" Sam scolds.

"What?" she says, biting off the cap and spitting it into the sink. "It's one measly beer, Sam."

"What if they notice it's missing?"

"It's their own fault for leaving it here." She takes a swig, looks at him and sighs. "If it bothers you that much, we can always replace it."

"We should have stayed in a motel," Sam says guiltily.

"Why? Sam, this place is empty. The owners are currently somewhere in the Bahamas, bathing in money. Don't you like staying somewhere nice for a change?"

"We're _squatting._ "

"In a nice place!" she insists. "And with any luck, all this ghost crap will be over soon, and we can move on."

"Hey, did you want me to show you that symbol?" he says, brightening a little. "Ingrid drew it out for me, and I'm pretty sure I remember it."

"If you want." Sam pulls an old receipt out of his pocket and hunts around for a pen. Dean watches Sam sketch out the symbol, but he doesn't recognise it.

"There," Sam says when he's done, pushing the drawing over to Ruby. "It might be nothing- she might have hallucinated it, but-"

"It's not nothing," Ruby answers, staring at the page. "I've seen this mark before."

"Yeah?" Sam says hungrily, leaning forwards. "Where? What does it mean?"

"It's the mark of the Witness," she says in what Dean thinks _might_ be awe. His wings pull in closer to his sides. There's a deep kind of sadness lurking in his chest that he supposes must be from seeing Sam. He pushes it aside, annoyed.

"Witness?" Sam repeats. "Witness to what?"

"The supernatural. These ghosts must have died in pretty freaky ways."

"Ingrid and Holly said car crash and house fire," Sam frowns.

"And during their several _years_ in a psychiatric care home, they've probably been told that pretty damn often. These ghosts wouldn't have risen of their own accord- somebody rose them on purpose, Sam."

"Who?"

"Lilith. It _has_ to be." Ruby pauses to let it sink in. "This is big. I mean, we knew she had plans, but this…?" Ruby turns away towards the sink. Dean thinks he sees a fleeting smile cross her face, but when Sam places a concerned hand on her shoulder and she turns back to him, her expression is troubled.

"What? What does it mean?" Sam asks.

"The apocalypse," Ruby whispers, and it takes a moment to sink in. The sadness that's bugging Dean is difficult to ignore, and it's making it hard to focus. _Man up and deal,_ he tells himself in annoyance.

"What?" Sam says in shock.

"The Rising of Witnesses is a Seal," Ruby says. "There are over six hundred, and they're like locks on a door. Break sixty-six and the door falls open."

"What's behind the door?"

"Lucifer."

Sam and Dean both stare at her. "As in the Devil?" Sam asks.

"That's the one," Ruby says grimly. "If Lilith's trying to free Lucifer, she's trying to end the world. And if she's breaking Seals, she might just do it."

"Then we have to stop her!" Sam says. "How do we stop her?"

"You _know_ how," Ruby says. Sam nods and, without any warning, Dean finds himself facing a blank wall. He spins around, but Sam and Ruby are gone, replaced with a grungy motel room and an unsmiling angel.

"Inias?" Dean says, stepping forwards. "What the hell-"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Inias asks severely. Dean should be furious, but the inexplicable gloom plaguing him dampens it down. He is hit with sudden understanding- the sensation, real though it may be, is not his.

"I swear, this 'psychic link' stuff is more trouble than it's worth," he mutters. "So it's Castiel?"

Inias just looks at him, and Dean thinks there's disappointment in his eyes. _Screw you, pal. You don't know a damned thing._

"Look-" Dean begins, but Inias cuts him off.

"You should get back to Earth," he says. "Your ward needs you."

Dean grits his teeth and refrains from answering. Inias touches his shoulder and takes him back to Earth, leaving him in the hallway outside Castiel's room without another word. Dean has a nasty feeling that this is going on his permanent record.

Dean appears inside the room, but Castiel isn't sitting in the chair or on the bed or standing by the window. Dean scans the room and very nearly misses the small, tan bundle in the corner. When realisation twigs, Dean literally hits the ground running, smashing into visibility as he rushes to Castiel's side.

"Castiel?" he asks, skidding to crouch by the man's side. "Cas?"

Castiel's head snaps up, gaze unfocused and uncomprehending. "Cas?" Dean repeats. Castiel shakes his head slightly, as if dispelling fog, and his eyes are clear when they meet Dean's.

"Dean," Castiel says.

"What happened?" Dean demands. Castiel doesn't seem hurt, but the sadness Dean misplaced earlier hangs heavily around him, so thick that Dean can almost taste it. He remembers the shrieks of alarm in his head earlier and feels sick.

"Nothing," Castiel answers stiffly.

"What, so you're hiding the corner of your room for fun?" Dean says in disbelief.

"I wasn't hiding," Castiel says.

"Castiel-"

"I'm sorry if I worried you."

Dean stands up. Castiel is an awful liar, especially when he's huddled against the wall with his knees pressed to his chest and that stupid oversized trench coat swamping him. Dean changes his approach. He looks at Castiel and focuses, and the image of a woman floats into his head. He pushes deeper, and Castiel's eyes widen as he realises what Dean is doing.

"Get _out_ ," Castiel says. He tries to scramble away, but he's backed up against the corner as it is. "You said you wouldn't!"

"If you're gonna lie to me, you don't leave me much choice," Dean growls. Castiel is fighting him, trying to pull the memory away, but Dean's got a firm grip on it.

"You said you wouldn't," Castiel repeats. "Dean, you _promised_."

Dean hesitates. "Dammit," he mutters, and lets go.

"Thank you," Castiel says, sounding pretty shaken up. Dean's new to this; presumably his attempt wasn't the discreet reading of the higher-level 's been at this job for about an hour and he's already screwing stuff up. It shouldn't really come as a shock.

Dean sighs. "I'm probably going about this the wrong way," he acknowledges, looking down at Castiel. He holds out a hand, but Castiel just looks at it.

"I don't bite," Dean snorts. Castiel slowly puts his hand in Dean's and lets himself be pulled up.

"You hurt?" Dean asks. Castiel shakes his head.

"No."

"Good. Sit down."

Castiel takes a seat obediently on the bed. After a moment of deliberation, Dean sits down too, in the chair Sam had used. _Probably best if we're on the same level._ Dean thinks that his wings have draped themselves over the back of the chair, but he can't be sure; the damned things have a life of their own.

"Sorry I didn't come earlier," Dean says.

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't. So, sorry." Castiel doesn't respond. "What happened?"

"I saw someone," Castiel says. "Someone who couldn't have been here."

"Someone who's dead?"

"Yes." Dean's stomach twists. _It_ was _a ghost, and you left him. He could have died, you ass._ But Castiel _didn't_ die, and now Dean knows where Ruby and Sam are, and what Lilith's planning. _That's gotta be worth something,_ _right?_ Even if it is, Dean can't shake the feeling of guilt.

"Who did you see?" Dean asks. Castiel doesn't answer, and Dean snorts. "Right, like I'm gonna tell anyone. C'mon, who?"

"My mother," Castiel replies. "She killed herself when I was sixteen." His voice is even and the lack of emotion in it means the revelation catches Dean by surprise.

"Crap. I'm sorry," he says, feeling like the world's biggest asshole.

"It was a long time ago," Castiel says. "Was what I saw real?"

"Define 'real'."

"Was it her?"

"I… think so," Dean says. Castiel digests this, his face flickering only briefly from its stony composure.

"Ghosts are real," Castiel says slowly.

"Afraid so," Dean confirms.

"Angels and ghosts are both real."

"Sure seems that way."

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"Vampires? Zombies? What else is there I should know about?"

 _A lot, but I'm not gonna tell any of it to someone on that much medication._ "It doesn't matter. The gho- your mother. What did she do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did she try and attack you?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel says. "She came towards me and reached out, but she vanished before she could do anything." That's not really any reassurance; ghosts rarely stay gone for long.

Castiel lifts a trembling hand like he's only just realised that it's attached to him. "I'm shaking," he states, puzzled.

"Not surprised," Dean says. He's seen less crazy stuff bring down less crazy people- he's kind of amazed that the guy's still standing. "What you saw must've come as one hell of a shock."

"It's been that kind of day," Castiel replies, and Dean laughs in surprise. _Maybe a bit of crazy helps with this kind of thing._ It'd certainly explain how he and Sam keep on going.

"Did you notice anything weird about her?" Dean presses.

"Other than the fact that she's been dead for fourteen years?" Strangely, Dean doesn't think Castiel is being sarcastic.

"Yeah, other than that."

Castiel thinks. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure. The experience was… distressing."

"Uh, understatement. Why didn't you tell me to come?"

"You said you were busy," Castiel says, and Dean feels guiltier than ever. _Great._

"Anything else happens, you call me," Dean says. "Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you, Dean," Castiel says, more sincerely than Dean expected. The gratitude is misplaced, but Dean can't deny that it's kind of nice all the same. It makes him feel good- and the pure kind of good, not the kind that comes from taking out your pain on whoever's chained up in front of you.

"Any time, Cas," Dean grins.

" _Cas_ ," Castiel says the word carefully, like it could shatter in his mouth. "You keep calling me that."

"What, should I not?"

"No, it's… fine," Castiel says.

"Cool," Dean says. "Listen, if everything's okay now, then I'm gonna go. If anything happens-"

"- I'll let you know," Castiel finishes. Dean will know anyway- he _knew_ anyway- but he's too spineless to admit it. Besides, he has other things to worry about than a near-stranger in a hospital room.

* * *

By the time Dean gets there, it's too late; Sam and Ruby have already done whatever it was they were planning. Sam actually seems better, though, more upbeat. He says something and Ruby sniggers, then links her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply. Dean stares blankly, not quite processing what he's seeing. Apparently not satisfied with boning werewolves, Sam's moved onto demons. _Well, ain't that fantastic._

Still, if sex is all they were referring to, that's gotta be a good thing. Disgusting and downright _wrong_ , but certainly safer than some other possibilities. Dean's suddenly very glad that he didn't stick around to watch.

They get on with research- Ruby flicking through books, Sam on his laptop. Sam closes a window and Dean sees that his computer background is a blurry cellphone shot of him and Dean, taken a couple of years back in a diner Dean barely remembers going to. There's a sharp yank of sadness in Dean's gut that's definitely his own.

A few hours of Sam-watching later, they've figured out a spell. They're discussing who's going to do what- Sam wants someone to head back to the hospital and look out for the patients- when a wave of confusion spreads through Dean. It takes him a little longer than it should do to work out that it's coming from Castiel, and that it's gotta be pretty severe if Dean can sense it from this far away. Sam and Ruby are still arguing, so Dean thinks he's okay to make a quick trip back to the hospital.

Castiel is sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his feet, when Dean materialises.

"What's going on?" Dean asks. Castiel jolts at the voice and then raises his head. He looks troubled.

"They've discharged me," he says, sounding utterly bewildered.

"Early? How come?"

"I don't know. All Dr. Carr said is that I'm being discharged early, and that I'm to leave within the hour."

Dean doesn't see the problem. "Isn't that good news?"

"Well, yes," Castiel says. "But my flat… I had a space in a supported living apartment, but it's not available until Thursday."

"Can't they take you earlier?"

"Possibly," Castiel says, "but it seems unlikely. They're fairly oversubscribed; this booking was made in January."

 _It's September now,_ Dean realises. It was May when he died; an entire season rolled by while he wasn't breathing. He wonders if he missed any good movies.

He pushes his own crap away to focus on Castiel. "Maybe if you tell the doctor that, he'll let you stay," Dean says, but Castiel shakes his head.

"He's aware of the situation." Dean thinks that sounds like one hell of a dick move, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. Hell, even if Dean found a flat, would Castiel know what to do with it? The guy's never had a job, never paid a bill, never even slept in a house by himself. What's Dean supposed to do with somebody like that?

 _Find something_ , Dean thinks bluntly. "Don't worry about it," he says, clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "You got a suitcase?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll work out some place for you to stay after you get packed."

Dean lends a hand- not that he needs to. In sixteen years Castiel has somehow amassed the grand total of two books; apparently, he gives them away once he's read them. He has a single framed picture of his family from twenty years ago, plain clothes, a few basics like shampoo and deodorant, and not that much else.

"That's it?" Dean says when they're finished. The suitcase isn't even half full. Okay, so Dean's been living out the back of a Chevrolet Impala since he was old enough to know what a Chevrolet Impala _was_ , but that's his life. It's a hunter's life. It doesn't seem right for someone with a fixed address.

"Yes."

"You haven't got a phone? A laptop?"

"I didn't see a point in either."

There's a knock at the door, and Dean disappears. "Yes?" Castiel says, and it opens to reveal a nurse. Dean doesn't recognise her, which comes as something of a relief after 'Dr. Smith', but Castiel clearly does.

"Jane," he greets her. The nurse beams at him.

"Ready to go, Castiel?" she asks.

"Now?" Castiel says, his anxiety palpable.

"No time like the present," the nurse says bouncily. "I'll show you out. Can you carry your case okay?"

"Yes," he says. He zips it up and pauses, and Dean looks away out of respect. Castiel deserves a chance to say goodbye. This is his home- he's lived in it for sixteen years, four times as long as Dean's ever lived in one place.

That freaks Dean out, to be honest. As stable as Castiel seems, there's got to be something seriously wrong with a person for them to be locked up for that long. Dean's not crazy about the idea that he's going to be on wacko-care for the entirety of his angelic career.

Castiel reluctantly follows Jane out, Dean drifting after them. He follows the pair down the long corridor, and they both wait patiently as Jane punches in a four digit code to unlock the door. A few twists and turns later, and they're standing on the front doorstep of the hospital. A fresh wave of apprehension punches Dean in the stomach.

 _ **It's okay,**_ he tells his ward. _**Just breathe, yeah?**_

Castiel takes a deep and obedient breath, and Dean thinks that it helps. "Goodbye, Castiel," Jane says. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," Castiel replies, and then Jane goes back inside and leaves him standing on the steps, alone.

_**Dean?** _

_**Still here.**_ Dean has no idea what they do now. Maybe he can book Castiel into a hotel or something- he could steal one of Sam's credit cards, get a room for a few nights. Sam wouldn't mind- hell, if he knew what was going on, he'd probably volunteer to take Castiel in himself.

 _Speak of the devil._ Sam looks up as he turns the corner, and whilst he clearly recognises Castiel, he looks straight through Dean. Dean is distracted from his somewhat irrational hurt by the nondescript bag gripped in Sam's right hand. It's the right size and shape to conceal a gun.

"Hey!" Sam says, closing the gap in a few long-legged strides. "Cassiel, right?"

"Castiel," he corrects. "Hello again, Dr. Smith."

"Call me Sam. You going somewhere?" Sam asks, nodding towards the case.

"Early discharge," Castiel replies.

"Released early on good behaviour, huh?" Castiel tilts his head, not comprehending, and Sam moves on.

"Listen," Sam begins, laying a hand on Castiel's arm. Dean suppresses a chuckle at how bewildered Castiel looks, and after an awkward second Sam lets go. "I'm gonna ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Whatever your answer is, I'm not gonna send you back to the hospital- I just need you to be honest with me. Can you do that?"

"I think so," Castiel says uncertainly. "How can I help?"

"Have you seen anything strange? And by anything, I mean _anyone._ Somebody who was close to you, who you lost- somebody whose death you might blame on yourself." Dean does a double-take. Castiel looks uncertain of how to proceed, his eyes flickering around like they're trying to meet Dean's.

 _ **Tell him the truth,**_ Dean advises. He doesn't know what's going on, but it looks like Sam does.

"Yes," Castiel confesses. "My mother."

Sam grimaces. "Did you notice anything different about her? A mark or tattoo, maybe?"

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure."

Sam nods. "And did she try and attack you?"

These questions are probably sounding awfully familiar to Castiel. Dean senses an unpleasant conversation approaching on the horizon.

"She approached me, but then she vanished," Castiel answers.

"How long ago was this?"

"A few hours."

"Right," Sam says, lips drawing into a tight line. "I know you don't want to hear this, Castiel, but I really don't think you should be alone right now. What you saw wasn't a hallucination- it was a ghost, and not a friendly one. You were lucky this time but, by the look of it, once you've seen one you can pretty much guarantee it's going to come back. I'm sorry, I know this must be a lot to take in- but it'd be a load off my mind if you'd agree to stick with me for a little while."

"Why?"

"Because I think you might be in danger," Sam says, laying the puppy eyes on thick.

 _ **You can trust him,**_ Dean tells Castiel, though he doesn't like this one bit. Then again, he _also_ doesn't like the idea of trying to fend off murderous ghosts when he has a nasty habit of fading into uselessness as soon as someone pops their head around the door. If Sam can get Castiel somewhere safe, make a salt ring and sit him down quietly in the middle, then Dean can drop his babysitting job for a few minutes and do what he does best: help his brother.

"If you think it's for the best," Castiel says. Sam looks taken aback; he probably didn't expect Castiel to agree that easily.

"Okay," Sam says. "Great! We're going to have to go back into the hospital, and things might get messy- but just stay close to me, okay? If you see anything, don't try and take it on, just shout. I'll look after you, don't worry."

"Can't I help?" Castiel says, and a strange look takes over Sam's face. Dean flicks through his personal catalogue of 'Sam', but it's not easy to place the expression. It's like some strange mix of guilt and hope, and Sam takes a while to reply.

"No," Sam says. "It's too dangerous."

"If people are in danger, I want to help," Castiel presses. "Please."

Dean doesn't know what to make of that. It's a difficult job to take on alone and he hates the idea of sending Sam in with no backup, but any 'help' Castiel has to offer can only be a hindrance.

Sam's still got that look on his face, and Dean finally places it; he looks like a kid weighing up whether or not to do something he knows he really, really shouldn't. Sam looks at Castiel, and Castiel looks back without baulking.

"You sure?" Sam asks.

"Yes," Castiel says firmly.

Sam sighs, resigned. "Okay," he says. "Come with me. You can bring your stuff."

Castiel picks up his bag and follows Sam all the way to the Impala.

They find Ruby slumped in the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard and- _for the love of all that's holy, please don't let that be a bag of chips._ Castiel hangs back as Sam bangs on the window and Ruby looks up in irritation. When Sam gestures at her, she winds the window down.

"You rang?" she says.

"Has she showed up again?" Sam asks. _She?_

"Didn't I say I'd call if she did?"

"Is that a no?" Sam presses. Ruby rolls her eyes.

"Yes, it's a no. I told you, I don't think- _oh_ ," she breathes as her eyes fall on Castiel. "Yep, that'll do."

"Something you'd like to share with the group?" Dean says testily.

Sam looks distinctly uncomfortable. "You're sure about this?" he asks Ruby.

"Don't you dare," she says instantly. "I'm not making this decision for you. _You_ were the one who insisted I couldn't do the spell alone, _you_ were the one who wanted to draft in help, and _you're_ the one who's apparently found it. It's your choice to make, so make it."

Sam puffs out air. "Okay. Right." He gathers himself. "Castiel?" he asks, turning around. Ruby smirks and winds the window back up.

"Yes?" Castiel says, moving forwards.

"Okay," Sam begins. "You're not the only person seeing ghosts. A lot of people at the hospital are, and they're all in danger. That's why I came back, to try and protect them. There's a spell that can banish the ghosts, but the problem they don't much like you doing it. My friend-" Sam breaks off to nod at Ruby in the car- "tried to do it, but a ghost started attacking _her._ When she called and told me, I asked her to come here so I could keep an eye on her."

Well, at least that explains who Ruby's mysterious 'she' is. Castiel doesn't question why Ruby's waiting in the car rather than going in with Sam, which is slightly disappointing; Dean was looking forward to hearing Sam explain _that_ away without admitting that his latest sweetheart doesn't mix well with salt and iron.

"The spell has a pretty complex set-up- there's no way we could move it here now. If I leave Ruby- my friend- to do the spell alone, she'll be killed. If I leave the people here alone, they'll be killed. I can't be in two places at once," Sam says helplessly. "It's totally fine if you say no- but if you did still want to help…"

"You want me to guard her while she completes the spell?" Castiel says.

"No!" Dean objects. Castiel is vulnerable, an innocent, and the Sam that Dean said goodbye to four months ago would never have used somebody like this.

"Yes," Sam confirms.

"I'll do it," Castiel says.

 _ **No!**_ Dean repeats, this time to somebody who can hear him. Castiel's calm expression flickers, but he remains silent.

"Thank you," Sam says sincerely. It's probably good thing Dean's not all that solid right now, because he doesn't want to hurt his car but he _really_ wants to hit something. What's the point in being a guardian angel if your ward doesn't listen to your damn advice?

"Ghosts have certain vulnerabilities," Sam explains to Castiel. "One is iron, another is salt- both will hold them off for a little while. You can actually pack the salt into bullets, and I've got a few guns loaded up like that- pretty harmless if it hits a person, but enough to buy you a few minutes of peace from a pissed-off ghost. Have you fired a gun before?"

"No," Castiel replies, "but I'm prepared to learn."

Sam's mouth twists; clearly, he disagrees. "If you really think you can handle it, then okay, but you don't have to. If you see something that shouldn't be there, just whack it with something made of iron- it'll have the same effect."

"I understand," Castiel says, internalising the orders without question.

Sam seems unsure of how to phrase what comes next. "I mean _anything_ that shouldn't be there, Castiel. That includes-"

"- my mother," Castiel says. "I know. I can do it."

"Good," Sam says. He offers Castiel a brief but heartfelt smile. "Thanks for this."

Dean is pissed. Dean is pissed beyond _belief_ , for so many reasons that it's hard to pin them all down. He doesn't like that Castiel isn't listening to him, doesn't like that Sam _can't_ listen to him, doesn't like that his dewy-eyed little brother puts so much trust in a creature from Hell itself. He doesn't like that his ward is endangering himself- doesn't like that his ward is endangering himself for Ruby _-_ and mostly, he doesn't like that he can't pick up a salt gun and take care of this mess himself.

"What about you?" Castiel asks Sam. "Have you seen the ghost of a loved one?"

 _Way to be subtle,_ Dean thinks as Sam flinches.

"Me? Uh, no. Not yet, at least." Sam sounds uncomfortable. Castiel either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"Do you think that you will?"

"Knowing my luck? No doubt," he says bitterly. "It's gonna be fun."

"I'm afraid you're wrong, it's not at all enjoyable."

"What? Dude, no. Sarcasm."

"Oh," Castiel says. "That does make more sense."

Sam looks at him oddly, but doesn't comment. "I keep waiting for someone to turn up," he admits, "but I don't even know who it'd be."

"Do you know anybody who has died from… supernatural causes?"

"I don't know anyone who's died from natural ones," Sam says brusquely. "Trust me, there's a whole line-up for them to pick from."

"They?" Castiel frowns.

"Someone's doing this," Sam says. "Somebody's forcing these people to rise. A demon."

"A demon?"

"I know, I know," Sam says. "Stay with me here. Her name is Lilith."

"You know her?"

"You could say that," Sam says evenly. "But right now, we need to focus on the ghosts. Ruby can drive you back to the house."

On any other occasion, Dean thinks he'd throw a fully blown bitch-fit over that filthy bag of sulphur groping his car, but there are so many other things bothering him right now that he can only watch numbly as Ruby moves into the driver's seat.

"Good luck," Sam says, and Ruby starts the car.

Dean takes up what's quickly becoming 'his' seat. He doesn't like having to sit in the back of the Impala; it's a sign that something is very wrong with the universe.

"My name is Castiel," Castiel volunteers as they drive. Ruby turns the wheel with a careless yank that makes Dean fight off an urge to slap her hands away.

"Good for you," she says, and the remainder of the journey passes in silence. When they arrive, Ruby gets out without looking back and stomps around to the trunk of the car. By the time Castiel's at her side, she's holding a shotgun. Dean's suddenly very grateful that the house is so secluded.

"Take this," she tells him, and before Castiel can object she's pushed the gun into his arms. "You know how to use it?"

"No," he says, and Ruby takes all of sixty seconds to explain. Dean notices that she's pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, but Castiel doesn't comment.

"Get it?" Ruby asks once she's covered how to point and shoot.

"I think so," Castiel says.

"Confidence-inspiring," she mutters, turning back to the car and rummaging through the Winchester artillery. "If something weird shows up, you shoot it; if I tell you to get something, you get it. Don't ask stupid questions if you want to make it out alive. Clear?"

"Yes," Castiel says confidently. Ruby looks up and closes her eyes for a moment. She reaches forwards and silently turns Castiel's gun the right way up.

"Thank you," he says stiffly. Ruby pulls out a heavy-looking chain of iron links from the trunk, then slams the lid down.

"Showtime," she announces. She starts walking, the chain trailing behind her and crushing flowers as she goes. _So much for not being noticed._ Alone in the driveway, Castiel looks more than a little lost.

"Dean?" he asks out loud.

 _ **Still here,**_ Dean tells him.

Castiel nods. "Then I suppose I had better go inside."

_**Cas, no. Listen to me- you don't have to do anything. It's not too late to change your mind.** _

Castiel wrinkles his brow. "Why would I do that?"

_**Because you can't handle this! If your mom turns up-** _

"She may not."

 _ **Give me a**_ **break**. _ **Ghosts don't just give up.**_

"I-"

_**And quit talking to yourself like that. People are gonna think-** _

Dean is cut off by a sudden scream from inside the house.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says, sounding torn, and then he turns and follows Ruby's path. Swearing as loudly as he can, Dean follows.

They find Ruby in the lounge, gripping a tattered book in one hand and the chain in the other. What must be the set-up from earlier is still in place, various reagents scattered throughout the room.

"Game's started," Ruby says, and though she sounds as cocky as ever, she looks strangely pale. Whichever ghost is bugging her must have made a reappearance.

Ruby drops her eyes to the stone bowl in front of her, sprinkling a handful of some unknown powder in. "Try and keep up," she tells Castiel. "Ten points if you get them in the head."

"I wasn't aware there was a scoring system."

Ruby looks at him strangely. "What were you doing at Brightwood again?" she asks cautiously, crumbling a sage leaf into the bowl.

"I was a patient there for sixteen years," Castiel answers. Ruby's hand stills briefly.

"Of course you were," she says tiredly, and resumes her work. Dean takes that as his cue to return to Sam's side.

* * *

The ability to be in two places at once would be useful, and as a result, Dean does not possess it. One second he's at the hospital with Sam, watching him argue with a nurse about their 'no weapons' policy; the next, he's watching Ruby crush herbs together, Castiel standing nearby with the gun clasped protectively to his chest. Back with Sam, watching him throw a handful of salt into the face of a screeching ghost as he breaks into a run; back with Castiel when the pull in his head tells him he's needed.

The woman bursts into nothingness as Dean appears. Breathing heavily, Castiel lowers his gun.

 _ **That your mom?**_ Castiel jumps so hard that he fires a round into the wall. Dean cringes.

 _ **No,**_ Castiel replies. _**Whoever she is, she was here for Ruby.**_

Dean glances over at the demon in question, who's crouching over the absent family's marble fireplace. He's pretty sure that she's using their photos as kindling. Dean still can't get over how creepy her true face is. It's like an optical illusion where he's seeing the duck and the rabbit at the same time, except the duck is an attractive young woman, and the rabbit is a nightmare-inducing mess that even friggin' Dante couldn't have thought up.

Dean's never been great with analogies.

A woman flashes into sight, dark hair tumbling in ringlets past her shoulders. Her eyes are blue and her gaze is cold, and Castiel's face flickers from shock to pain before setting into an unfeeling hardness. Castiel raises the gun and the bullet explodes through the figure's chest, dissipating it instantly. Bone-deep sadness spreads through Dean and he runs from it, swapping back to Sam.

The hospital is barely-controlled bedlam, and Dean watches Sam half-drag a sobbing woman behind a line of salt. She reaches out a hand for Sam, but he shrugs her touch away and sweeps from the room, already moving onto the next person.

Back to Castiel and Ruby at the house, and the ghosts are coming faster than ever. Ruby's playmate goes down in one shot, Castiel's mother in the next. Dean notices that Castiel doesn't meet her eyes when he pulls the trigger.

Back to Sam, and Dean's stomach sinks when he sees Agent Henriksen standing in Sam's path.

"- to me," he's saying to Sam, who seems frozen in place. "It was your fault."

"I'm sorry," Sam croaks. "I- we didn't-"

"Didn't what? It was you, Sam. You, and your selfish, asshole broth-"

Henriksen explodes into nothingness. Sam lowers the gun and says, quietly, "You don't get to talk about Dean."

Back at the house, Ruby shouts 'Castiel!' as a ghost yanks an arm around her throat, bending to hiss something into her ear. Dean glimpses the much-discussed black mark on the ghost's arm a split second before Castiel fires. Ruby ducks, and the rock salt bullet goes straight through the apparition's head.

"Ten to you," Ruby says, sounding nearly impressed as she turns back to the fire.

At the hospital, Sam's moving down the hallway, flattering himself against the wall, when suddenly his gun goes spilling out of his hand.

"Sam!" Dean shouts, without thinking, as Henriksen pushes at the air and Sam hits the ground hard.

"Please," Sam says, low and urgent, as Henriksen stalks toward him. "We didn't kill you, Victor. If we knew that Lilith was coming for you then we never would have left, we-"

"What, so you think you left and she turned up and we all died in a beautiful blast of white light?" Henriksen laughs bitterly. "If only. Forty-five _minutes._ "

Dean gapes. So does Sam. "What?" they whisper as one.

"You heard me- over forty-five minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin." Henriksen pauses to smile a horrible, horrible smile. Sam's slowly edging his hand towards the gun, but Dean doesn't think that Henriksen has noticed yet.

"Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece," Henriksen says, enunciating every word, making sure Sam doesn't miss a thing. "Right in front of us. Made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming."

Dean gasps suddenly. It's the same pull as before, the same warning bells beginning to screech in his head- Castiel is in danger.

"You really pick your moments," Dean says through gritted teeth as Sam inches his fingers towards the gun. He's nearly there, nearly safe-

"Dammit, Cas, just _shoot_ the fucking thing!" Dean begs as the pull gets stronger, building and building until it's all he can see, hear, can taste it behind his teeth. Dean _can't_ leave. Not when his little brother is inches away from dying because there's no one there to save him, because Dean screwed up and let Sam get hurt- because Dean always, always screws up.

Suddenly, Sam springs for the gun. Henriksen moves with him but Sam's faster, and as the ghost splinters into the ether, Dean appears at Castiel's side. Ruby's gone, the gun's on the other side of the room, and the ghost of Castiel's mother- mark burned black on her arm- has her hands locked tight around her son's throat. She is smiling.

"No!" Dean shouts, wings flaring behind him. He flicks a hand and Ruby's heavy iron chain, curled like a snake on the floor, flings itself across the room. It slams into the ghost, tearing her out of reality with a scream. The chain falls harmlessly into Castiel's lap, momentum instantly lost. Castiel falls over, choking for air, and after a few seconds he shakily begins to crawl towards the gun. Dean can hear Ruby's heels clacking down the hallway, and he returns to Sam's side.

Dean stays and watches Sam take out the same four ghosts, over and over again. He's quick, ruthless, and he's learned his lesson about letting them talk. There's a kind of efficiency about him that Dean's never seen before. After another few minutes, in which Castiel just about manages to keep himself out of trouble, the ghosts stop showing up. Sam counts to sixty, his lips moving silently, and does the same thing again. He pulls his phone out and dials.

"Ruby?" he says. He listens and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Great. See you in ten." Sam pockets the mobile and picks up the gun. Dean follows him to a room where two nurses are standing behind a salt line, both trying to pull a man's hands back from where he's clawing at his wrists.

"All sorted now," Sam tells them, his cheeriness forced. "See you around." He leaves before anybody can ask him any questions, and he doesn't look back.

* * *

Ruby has to drive back to the hospital to pick Sam up. It's clear that they arrived separately and yet somehow only have one car between them, but if Castiel thinks that's strange, he doesn't mention it. Ruby leaves him sitting in the kitchen, staring down a glass of water.

 _ **I'm still around**_ , Dean tells him, and Castiel acknowledges the words with a slight, silent nod. Dean thinks he might be in shock. He can't really blame him.

Ten minutes pass, during which Dean stares at Castiel staring at the glass of water. Dean _could_ become corporeal, but he doesn't see much point. He can't help but feel like there's somebody else who needs him more right now.

Dean knows that he shouldn't leave Castiel, but he's hardly doing much good sticking around. If Dean went to find Sam and Ruby, it would help him to understand the situation, which in turn would help him know how to better help Castiel. Surely, in the long run, that's a better plan?

That's how Dean justifies it to himself, at least. He doesn't let Castiel know that he's leaving- his ward can still reach Dean if he needs him, so there's no point in causing the poor guy _more_ stress.

Dean reaches Sam at about the same time Ruby does. Sam picks up his canvas bag and walks over to the driver's side of the car, and Ruby opens her door with a sigh.

"You never let me drive," she grumbles, climbing over the seats rather than getting out and going around. Dean scowls as the heels of her boots dig into the leather, but at least it leaves the Impala in slighter safer hands.

"So?" Sam says once they're both in the car. Ruby's face presumably tells him all he needs to know, because he groans. "Wow, something went wrong," he deadpans. "What a shocking twist of events."

"Quit it," Ruby snaps. "We're alive, aren't we?"

"The Seal?"

"Broken," Ruby says grimly. "The spirits still rose. Getting rid of them once they were up, that was nothing but damage control."

"So Lilith is one step closer to raising Lucifer," Sam says, hatred clear in his voice. "We have to stop her, Ruby."

"Thanks, Sherlock."

"That's not-" Sam's frustration chokes him up and cuts him off. Ruby leans over and turns him by the shoulders to face her.

"I know," she soothes, raising her hand to caress his neck. "You're going to do it, Sam. You _are._ "

"You think?" he says, searching her face desperately.

"I _know_ ," she corrects gently. "No doubt about it." She smiles at him and gets an answering flicker.

"Come on, we need to deal with the waif you drafted in," Ruby says, letting him go. "And by the way, hiring a lunatic to do our work? Great idea."

"Hey, come on!" Sam defends, laughing, as he starts the engine. "He seems okay."

"He's from an _asylum,_ " Ruby points out. "For all you knew, he was going to snap my neck and make me into origami."

"Did you see the guy? He couldn't snap a twig." Sam pauses. "Besides, he's been discharged. He can't be _that_ bad."

"Oh, he's a free bird? You'd better find out where his nest is so you can take him back," Ruby says. "Anyway, I've got stuff to take care of. I'll see you around."

When Sam twists to look at Ruby, she's already gone. He sighs in irritation and turns back to the road. Dean leaves too, returning to Castiel's side.

Castiel hasn't moved an inch. It feels like a century before Sam walks into the kitchen.

"Hey," Sam says, sitting down with a cautious smile, like Castiel is a rescue dog and nobody knows how likely he is to bite.

"Hello," Castiel replies. _At least he's talking._

"Ruby says you did good today," Sam says encouragingly. Ruby, of course, said no such thing.

"Thank you," Castiel says. "I did what I could."

"What did you use? Iron?"

"No, the gun."

"Seriously?" Sam says. "How'd you find it?"

"Relatively straightforward. Aiming is surprisingly easy."

"It is so not," Sam disagrees.

"Just because it took you two years to hit a damn target," Dean snorts. Sam might not be a bad shot now, but he definitely had to work to get there. It didn't help that he was always so reluctant to practice.

"It seemed simple enough," Castiel says. Dean's pretty sure that he's just making conversation, but Sam takes it as a challenge.

"Okay," Sam says, plucking Ruby's empty bottle of beer from behind the sink and standing it on the counter. He retreats to stand behind Castiel, placing his hands on the man's chair. "Hit that."

Castiel considers this. He raises the gun, concentrates, and the bullet takes the bottle straight through the middle. Sam's mouth drops open as shards fly everywhere.

" _Dude,_ " Sam says. Even Dean's impressed. Bobby could make a shot like that blindfolded, but for a first timer it's pretty incredible.

 _Bobby,_ Dean remembers, yet another punch to his gut on a day determined to remind him that Earth can suck too. _Great, another person I can't talk to._

"The ghosts are gone now?" Castiel asks. "For good?"

"Sure are," Sam says.

"Where to?" Castiel questions. "Heaven? Hell?"

Sam hesitates. "I'm… not all that sure, to be honest. Some place that isn't here."

"I suppose that's what matters," Castiel agrees. "Did you see anybody?"

"Yeah, this guy I once knew. I was kinda surprised, actually."

"Why?"

"There were… more obvious choices," Sam says, determinedly not meeting Castiel's eyes.

"I don't follow."

"My brother. I lost him a couple months back, and I thought-" Sam breaks off. "Never mind," he says.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says sincerely. Dean feels like a kid hovering at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on his parents talking about him. "That must have been difficult."

"Still is," Sam says, in a tone that suggests he'll say no more on the matter. He gets up and moves over to the counter, starting to clear away the broken glass.

"It sounds like this is a regular occurrence for you," Castiel comments. "Dealing with ghosts."

"Yeah, it's sort of my job. Used to be my brother's too, but now it's just me. I mean, there's Ruby- but it's not the same, you know?"

"Yes," Castiel says, and Dean's fairly sure he mentally flipped a coin to decide which answer to go with.

"How about you?" Sam asks. "What're you gonna do now you're out of the hospital?"

"I don't know," Castiel says. He looks embarrassed. "At present, I'm not even sure where I'm staying."

"What?" Sam turns back around, his voice spiking with alarm, and Dean finds that reassuring. _That bitch hasn't poisoned you to the core after all._

"My discharge was… somewhat unexpected," Castiel confesses. "I don't have a place to live."

"So where are you going now?"

 _ **Tell him you're gonna be staying in a motel for a few days,**_ Dean instructs.

"I'm gonna be staying in a motel for a few days," Castiel recites.

"Crap," Sam says. "How long were you in hospital for? It was a while, right?"

"Sixteen years," Castiel agrees.

"Crap," Sam says again. He turns away from Castiel, drums his hands on the counter. "You really don't have anywhere to go?"

"I don't understand why you keep asking that," Castiel says frankly.

"Sorry, I was only- I was thinking…"

"Yes?" Castiel says when Sam hesitates.

"You could come with me."

Dean looks at Sam sharply.

"What do you mean?" Castiel frowns, not understanding. "Where are you going?"

"Don't know yet, to be honest. I travel around working cases like this- it's called 'hunting'," Sam says. "But if you did come along, you wouldn't have to get involved with any of that. Not if you didn't want. It's up to you."

 _ **Castiel?**_ Dean says. He can tell that Castiel's heard him, but he doesn't get a reply.

"I don't want to leave you with nowhere to go," Sam continues, "and you've proven that you can handle being around this stuff. Usually, I wouldn't even consider asking- but I don't know, this feels different. Sounds crazy, I know, but this… seems right."

What the _fuck?_

 _ **Cas?**_ Dean tries again.

"It wouldn't be for long- just until you could get a place sorted out," Sam says, turning back around to face Castiel. "Plans, money, whatever."

_**Castiel, can I have a fucking word with you?** _

"I need a minute," Castiel says abruptly. Sam blinks and then nods.

"Yeah, sure thing," he says.

 _ **Dean.**_ Castiel is infuriatingly calm- like he hasn't just seen (and shot) his mother's ghost, like he's not seriously considering hunting, like there's nothing unusual going on at all. Dean's never thought of himself as overly emotional, but next to Castiel… well, even a sparkler looks like a volcano when you hold it up to the silent and unmoving sky.

 _ **Don't do it,**_ he tells his ward.

_**Why not?** _

Dean can hardly believe what he's hearing. _**What you saw today, Cas, that's nothing. Sure, it was horrible, and frightening, and dangerous, but for us that's just another day of the week. Another meaningless date on the calendar, another nameless son of a bitch ganked. And it's all gonna be like that, all the time, and it only ever gets worse.**_

_**You said 'us'.** _

_**Are you even listening?** _

_**Yes, and you said 'for** _ **us'** _**. You sound as though you're speaking from experience.** _

Dean's previous line of thought trails off and dies. His wings, which had been growing and spreading behind him as he spoke, fall limply to his sides. _**Whatever. It doesn't matter.**_

_**Dean, how do you know Sam?** _

_**I said it doesn't matter!**_ Dean snaps. He grimaces and tries to regain control of the situation. _ **Castiel, nobody should choose this life. Not if they can avoid it.**_

_**My future is not overflowing with alternates.** _

_**Don't give me that bull. You can wait a couple of days and get this apartment or whatever-** _

_**And then what? I've never worked. I don't have any qualifications. I don't know what to do with my life, or how to even begin deciding. Yet today, I met Sam, got discharged and was assigned a guardian angel. There's no way that can be coincidence.** _

_**So? It's weird, I'll give you that, but it doesn't** _ **mean** _**a damn thing.** _

_**It must do. Why would I require a guardian angel if I wasn't meant to hunt?** _

_**I don't- you're not cut out for this, okay?**_ Dean hasn't said the words out loud, but they still sound like he shouted them.

"Castiel?" Sam asks. Castiel glances over at him, and then closes his eyes.

_**If you truly believe it's the wrong thing to do, then I will say no. I will do whatever you tell me to. But Dean, give me a chance. I can do this.** _

"No, you _can't_ ," Dean says- but out loud, to himself, where nobody can hear. He pushes a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth.

 _ **Whatever,**_ he says. _ **Do what you want.**_

_**Dean?** _

_**I said, it's your choice.** _

_**But I don't…**_ Castiel's eyes open. He looks so torn that grudgingly, against everything in him, Dean yields.

 _ **Say yes.**_ Dean thinks his tone makes it pretty clear that he doesn't _mean_ that yes, but that's not the kind of thing Castiel picks up on.

"Yes," Castiel says immediately. "My answer is yes."

"Okay," Sam says, a smile stretching across his face. "Great! In that case, give me some time to clean up here and we'll go. Your stuff's still in the car, right?"

"I think so, yes."

"Awesome. Hang onto the gun."

"Of course." Castiel bends down and begins to collect up the shards of broken glass.

"It's okay, I can-"

"It's no worry," Castiel says. "There's a lot of work to do." That's true. Ruby's dribbled liquid on the floorboards, sprinkled powder across rugs, left remnants of salt dusting everything like a snow globe. In a place as beautiful as this, cleaning up isn't going to be easy.

"Good point," Sam says. "I'll do the fireplace."

Right before Sam leaves the kitchen, Castiel stops him. "Sam?"

"Yep?"

"What was your brother's name?"

Sam visibly stiffens, but then slumps and replies. "Dean," he says softly. "His name was Dean."


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three songs from the playlist, and the updated lyrics document, are now available for download [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2).  
> Thank you so much for reading/reviewing- you guys are the best. And thank you even more to my beta reader, IAS, who has the kind of patience that'd make a saint look sinful.

_I'm sorry, brother, I'm sorry I let you down._  
_Well these days, you're fine-_  
_no, these days, you tend to lie._

_\- Amsterdam, Imagine Dragons_

* * *

Dean spends the next half-hour watching Sam clean and trying to work out what he's supposed to do now. His thoughts are like gnarled barbed wire, cutting him whenever he tries to untangle them. Castiel is going to hunt with Sam. What the hell is Dean supposed to make of that?

On one hand, if Castiel sticks with Sam,  _Dean_ gets to stick with Sam. On the other… the idea of spending fifty years without Sam is horrible, but bearable. The idea of seeing Sam, of knowing how he is and who he's with but remaining forever unable to reach him- that brings a kind of pain Dean can't put into words.

And then there's the unpleasant fact that Dean would be entrusting  _Castiel_  to take care of  _Sam_. Sam's life is too damn precious to be handed over to a stranger who hasn't used a knife that wasn't made of blunted plastic in sixteen goddamn years. The idea would be laughable if it wasn't so disturbing. No; as much as Dean wants to stay, if it's going to put Sam in danger, there's no way he could ever condone it.

Out of nowhere, Dean hears the soft flutter of wings. His own twitch happily behind him, recognising their kin. Anna stands in the middle of the room, unseen by Sam.

"Dean," she says. "We need to talk."

Before he can reply, their surroundings flicker like a faulty light-bulb and he finds himself standing on an unfamiliar beach.

"Where are we?" Dean asks, looking out to the softly rippling ocean.

"This is Heaven on default," she says. "One of our blank backdrops. We've got beaches, gardens, rivers…"

"How come?"

"Some guardians don't like using their personal Heavens for business."

"Right, 'cause we're still all squishy and human inside," he says, with a smile that's more of a grimace. He's getting the impression that guardian angels are a favourite joke of everybody upstairs.

"Sit down," she says, gesturing to an appropriately worn down bench. Dean does.

"I helped design this template," she comments. The wood underneath Dean's hands feels real, the seat yielding under his weight, and the damn thing even has a memorial plaque. Anna blushes as he turns to examine it. "What can I say? I pay attention to detail."

Dean ignores her. "How come you pulled me out like that?"

"I think you know," Anna says, but there's no way Dean's letting her get away that easily. He raises his hands and hunches his shoulders in the universal expression of 'how the fuck should I know?'

Anna sighs. "You're angry," she states.

"Really?" he snaps. "What gave it away?"

"It's a little like standing in front of a furnace," she says, frowning at him. "I know you don't want Castiel hunting with your brother."

"Well, excuse me for the common sense."

"And I know  _why_  you don't want it, Dean." The madder Dean gets, the calmer Anna sounds, and that only serves to piss him off even more.

"You don't know a damn thing," he says tightly.

"Really?" she says, arching an eyebrow. "Then tell me."

"Castiel's no hunter," Dean says. "The guy lives in a hospital because he can't cope with day-to-day life. They won't let him use  _scissors_  unattended, and you think he could cope with  _demons_?"

"Yes," she answers simply. That throws Dean, and Anna takes advantage of his momentary silence to carry on talking.

"You're not thinking of Castiel here," Anna says. "Don't lie to me, Dean. You don't care that he's hunting- you care that he's hunting with  _Sam._ "

"Not true," Dean mumbles.

"True," Anna insists. Lying to somebody who can read your mind, Dean reflects, is pointless at best and soul-destroying at worst. It's every 'I-know-what-you-really-are' lecture he's ever had, intensified and concentrated. If Sam could hear this, he'd probably feel usurped.

"Fine, but can you really blame me?" Dean demands, switching tactics. "The guy's been on lockdown for half his  _life_ , Anna. Taking care of Sam is my job, and I don't trust him with it."

It's not like Dean trusts Ruby either, but he's hoping against hope that Sam has enough sense left in him to appreciate that demons don't make the best protectors. He's pretty sure Sam would put more faith in a human, would rely on them more, and that could be his downfall if the human in question was Castiel.

"Taking care of  _Castiel_  is your job," Anna corrects. "Sam's nothing but a reference."

"Don't talk about him like that," Dean says warningly.

"Dean!" Anna says, clearly frustrated now. "Don't you understand? You've been assigned to Castiel. You can't prioritise anything over him, and that includes Sam."

"Sam's my brother," Dean says, and it comes out more quietly, more pathetically than he intended.

"And Castiel is your ward," Anna says gently. "I'm sorry, but this is important. Heaven might not always take guardian angels seriously, but they do when they screw up."

"I didn't-"

"I didn't say you did." The 'yet' remains unspoken.

Dean's tired. The mess of rage and sadness in his chest is gone- it poured from his mouth and dribbled out of his pores, and now it's all been swallowed by the fake sand at his feet. He feels scooped out inside, drained, with a hollow kind of ache. It's been less than a day, and Dean already wants to give up.  _How pathetic can you get?_

"I'm sorry," Anna says, with sympathy, "I'm really not trying to hurt you- I'm telling you this because you need to know it. You're risking getting Zachariah involved- or worse."

"There's worse?" he tries to joke.

"Four of them," she says grimly- and then adds "well, somewhere. Trust me, Dean, you really do not want to cross an archangel."

"They'd go to all that trouble for one measly guardian?"

"Disobeying is the single worst thing an angel can do," Anna says gravely. "What kind of example would it set if they let you get away with it?"

"Yeah, well I don't scare so easy," Dean says. "No offence, lady, but I've been to Hell."

"You have," she agrees, "and that's why I know you'll understand. Lucifer was an  _archangel,_ Dean. Where do you think he learned all his tricks?"

And before Dean can so much as blink, he's standing back outside the house.

He sticks to Castiel and Sam, as close and as silent as a shadow. It's evening by the time they set off, travelling towards a case that Ruby found a couple of states over. Nobody tries to make small talk, which suits Dean just fine. Maybe it's illogical, but he's angry, and he's angry at Castiel. He's angry at him for agreeing to hunt, for sticking with Sam, for ending up in that damn hospital in the first place. Dean knows that Castiel never asked for a guardian angel, but he's pissed at him for having one all the same. 'Look out for Castiel' is just another way to say 'quit looking out for Sam'.

 _ **Dean?**_ Castiel says after several hours of silence. Dean debates not replying, but Anna's warnings ghost in his ears and he attempts to grow the fuck up. He is only partially successful.

_**Yeah.** _

_**How long has it been since you were human?** _

That stings. Castiel has a matter-of-fact way of viewing the world, and Dean doesn't always like to face the facts head-on.

 _ **What brought that on?**_ Dean asks.

_**I was curious.** _

_**Well, don't be. I'm not a friggin' dog or something,**_ he defends, tugging up his t-shirt sleeve. He's pleased to find that Zachariah's handprint is gone; that's not a scar he wanted to keep.  _ **I'm like, a demi-angel at most. Half of me's still human.**_

_**How did you get the other half?** _

_**How do you think? I died.** _

Dean hadn't known it was possible to have an awkward silence inside your own head.

 _ **I'm sorry,**_ Castiel says after a while.

_**I got over it.** _

_**Did you go to Heaven?** _

Dean hesitates.  _ **Something like that.**_

_**What was it like?** _

_**Classified,**_ Dean responds, because it feels like the easiest option.

 _ **Who exactly**_ **is** _ **Lilith?**_ Castiel asks, changing topic.

 _ **What's with all the questions?**_ Dean complains. The other end of the line goes quiet after that, and he's grateful. This is hardly a bonding-over-beer type of relationship.

"Did you want to stop for the night, or are you okay to keep going?" Sam asks after a while.

"Either will be fine," Castiel says. "How about your friend? What's she doing?"

"Ruby? She'll meet us there- she prefers to drive alone, that's all."

"Liar," Dean calls from where he's sprawled across the backseat, staring up at the roof.

"I see," Castiel replies to Sam.

"She's a demon, you dumbass," Dean says, annoyed. He's still mad, and after five hours riding in the backseat of  _his_ car, he's bored and antsy too.

They keep on driving and Castiel sleeps a little on the way. Sam doesn't, grabbing a coffee at about four A.M and adding a glug of liquor from a small flask under the driver's seat. Dean's starting to wish he'd taught his little brother some better habits.

They get brunch in a shitty diner, and Castiel studies the menu like it's written in Greek.

 _ **What's wrong?**_ Dean asks him, marking the first time he's spoken to Castiel in over ten hours.

 _ **I'm not used to having this much choice,**_ Castiel replies. Dean groans out loud.

"I hope you're seeing this, Anna," he grunts at the sky.

 _ **Just get whatever Sam gets,**_ Dean says. If this is what most guardian angel work is going to be like, then Dean's going to start getting nostalgic for ghosts and iron chains.

Speaking of iron, neither Dean nor Castiel have mentioned that particular rescue yet. Dean doesn't need a thank you, but he figures Castiel might ask 'hey, what's up with you throwing an iron chain with your mind?' at some point- to which Dean will have to answer 'beats me'.

He guesses it's the whole 'ward in danger' thing. On one hand, it feels good- but on the other, it feels wrong. It reminds him of when Sam's psychic crap started acting up when they were hunting Azazel, and that's not something he ever wants to be reminded of.

Ruby slips into the seat next to Sam halfway through their meal. Sam offers her a tired smile and whilst Castiel is clearly confused about her sudden appearance, he wisely decides against questioning it.

"You look like crap," Ruby tells Sam matter-of-factly. It seems to take her a moment to realise that Castiel is there too and when she does, her face darkens. "Sam, can I have a word?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"As in  _outside?_ "

"Oh- yeah, sure." He follows her out and Castiel's left sitting alone again.

 _ **I don't know why they insist on having so many discussions outside,**_ Castiel comments.

 _ **Maybe they like the view,**_ Dean replies bitingly, before teleporting out to join them.

"Are you serious?" Ruby's demanding.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Sam says defensively.

"Uh, leave him? The way we leave people every single time we do a hunt? Or did you want to go fetch a butterfly net and catch a couple more crazies while you're at it? Dammit, Sam, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know!" Sam says agitatedly. "It just… felt right."

"What?" Ruby says incredulously

"I don't know, okay? I just feel like Castiel hunting with us… like it's  _meant_ to happen. You know?"

"No," she says bluntly. "No, I don't, and you're freaking me out. Take him back to day care."

It's kind of unnerving for Dean to realise that he's actually  _agreeing_ with Ruby.

"Give him one hunt," Sam implores. "One hunt, and if he screws it up-"

"- we'll all die, Lilith will start the apocalypse and Dean will stay in Hell, forever, along with you and everybody else you've ever cared for. Are you really going to be that selfish?"

 _And there it is._ The familiar urge to slap Ruby returns in full-force, which Dean finds almost reassuring.

"One hunt," Sam insists. "C'mon, Ruby. He held his own against those ghosts, right?"

"Barely," she says grudgingly.

"But he  _did,_ " Sam wheedles. "Give him a chance. He deserves that much."

"He doesn't 'deserve' anything," Ruby objects, but she doesn't add anything else. Sam seems to take it as a sign of agreement.

"So you said this demon could know something?" he says hopefully.

"I don't know," Ruby says icily. "We'll have to find out. If you feel up to it, that is."

"'Course I do. I feel great."

 _Really?_ Dean thinks.  _Because you sure don't look it._ The bags under Sam's eyes are heavy, and Dean thinks he's lost weight. He's definitely lost muscle, which doesn't make any sense. If he's been hunting demons, he should be as built as before, if not more.

She eyes him up warily. "Fine. Whatever. Let's go see if your friend's started licking the windows yet."

Castiel hasn't moved. He's sitting where they left him, stirring his coffee in perfectly concentric circles and staring into the cup as if it's the most fascinating thing he's seen all day.

 _ **Please tell me you've had coffee before**_ **,** Dean damn-near begs.

 _ **Yes,**_ Castiel replies.

_**Then why the creepy staring?** _

_**Just because it isn't new doesn't mean I can't take an interest in it.** _

Taking an interest in coffee. Right. Dean's on the verge of asking a little more about exactly what it was that got Castiel sixteen years in Arkham, but then Sam and Ruby sit back down and Castiel switches focus.

"Okay, so, demons," Sam begins. "Demons need to possess a human in order to really do anything, but they can switch bodies whenever they want. That means they can be difficult to trace. Ruby's been tracking one for the past two weeks, and she's pretty sure that she's figured out who and where it is. It's somewhere in this city- possibly living in a flat somewhere nearby."

"Is this Lilith?" Castiel asks. Sam snorts.

"I wish," he says. "This is only one of her flunkies, but we're hoping it can lead us her way. If it'll talk, that is."

"How do you get a demon to talk?" Castiel asks. Sam and Ruby exchange a look laden with words that Dean cannot hear and does not trust.

"There are ways," Sam says evenly. Okay, that settles it. Dean's going to figure out what's going on, and if it's not good, he's going to invent a way to put a boot up Sam's ass.

* * *

As it turns out, Dean doesn't have to wait very long; they find the demon later that day. Ruby and Sam get Castiel to draw the devil's trap, using a photograph as a reference, while they locate the thing and lure it in. The demon's wearing a middle-aged primary school teacher, chubby around the middle, with a tie that plays tinny music when you press it and dried blood under his fingernails.

If it were Dean, he'd start with injecting salt water and work his way up from there, but Sam doesn't even mention salt. He begins with the standard line of questioning, and receives the standard sweet F.A.

"I'm going to give you one more chance," Sam says, voice a dangerous kind of soft that Dean doesn't think he's ever heard before. It reminds him of the first time he saw a gun in Sam's hands- that same bitter sensation of  _oh,_ ripping deep into his gut. Dean wants to push him aside, take the gun from his hands and make him go back inside; tell him to go and watch cartoons and keep all of the lights on and never look out the window.

"Or what?" the demon challenges.

"One chance," Sam repeats. The demon looks ready to argue, but a sharp look from Sam has him closing his mouth and hanging his head.

"Fine," the demon says reluctantly. "Come here."

"No," Sam says. "Say it out loud."

"Please," the demon sniffles. He sounds afraid. Sam exchanges a glance with Ruby, who gives a nod of assent. Sam moves as close to the edge of the circle as he can get without smudging Castiel's work.

"Where is Lilith?" he asks. The demon leans in close.

"Lilith…" he begins, and then the scared trembling in his voice gives way into delighted, childish giggling. "Lilith is in my  _ass._ "

Sam smiles too- a mocking, 'you-think-that's-funny?' style grimace, and then he takes a step back and holds out a hand. Dean watches, stunned, as the demon doubles over and starts to cough. Sam lowers his hand and it stops.

"Oh,  _Sam,_ " the demon says between gasps. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Sam doesn't even flinch. "Where's Lilith?"

"Nuh-uh, not telling." Sam holds out his hand again. He clenches his fist and the retching worsens, the demon falling to his knees.

"Tell me," Sam says.

"No," he chokes out. Sam twists his fist slightly and the demon breaks off mid-heave to let out an agonised howl. He's on his hands and knees now, entire body shaking as he retches like he's trying to turn himself inside out.

All of a sudden, Sam lets go. He uncurls his fingers and waits as the demon gulps down air greedily, his face pressed against the chalk.

"Last chance," Sam says coolly. The demon snaps his head up, eyes marbled with scarlet from burst blood vessels.

"You know, you're all the rage down in the Pit," he sings. "At least, your pretty older brother is. I was down there myself a few months back, and my, oh my _,_ you should hear him scream." He starts laughing again, like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "He screams for help, Sammy. He screams for  _you._ "

Sam's hand is out and in a fist so quickly that Dean doesn't even see the transition; he only sees the cloud of black smoke gush from the man's lips, rebounding off his throat and plunging into the crevice opening up at Sam's feet. When all the smoke is gone, the gap in the floor heals over like it was never there. Dean looks at Sam and suddenly, he feels afraid.

There is a trickle of blood running down Sam's face. He doesn't seem to notice.

"You shouldn't have done that," Ruby says disapprovingly. "We could've used him."

"He wasn't going to talk." Ruby makes a noise that indicates she doesn't entirely agree, but she moves on. "Well, that's our only lead dead. Suggestions?"

"Find another one."

"Sure! I'll just go to the store, they're having a two-for-one deal," Ruby says hotly, but then she looks at Sam and her face softens. "You're bleeding again," she says gently. Sam wipes his sleeve against his face and looks at the red smear with no apparent concern.

_**Dean?** _

_**I have no fucking clue,**_ he tells Castiel flatly.

_**I see.** _

It's not the complete truth. Dean has a very slight clue- that slight clue being that Sam's delightful psychic mojo has decided to rear its ugly head again, and that a certain Hell-bred bitch has been encouraging him. Isn't that peachy? Dean dies for four months and the world goes batshit in his absence. Fucking  _typical._

"You okay?" Sam says, glancing over at Castiel, and Dean finally manages to tear his horrified eyes away from Sam to look at his ward. For a solid ten seconds, nobody says anything.

"That was unexpected," Castiel says at last. Ruby laughs.

"That was the quickest yet," she notes approvingly, turning back to Sam. "When you really focused, that was what? Five seconds? Not that I'm impressed."

"So you'll forgive me for killing our best lead?" Sam says, lip quirking.

"Eh, I guess we can find another one," she teases.

"Back to the motel?" Sam asks Castiel, who nods.

 _ **I was not aware Sam could do that,**_ he tells Dean as they leave.

 _ **Yeah?**_ Dean thinks glumly as Sam pushes the heavy door closed, leaving Ruby inside to clean up the mess.  _ **Then that makes two of us.**_

* * *

Even when Dean thought that the only thing wrong with Sam was a heavy dose of lingering grief, Castiel sticking around seemed like a bad idea; now that Dean knows his little brother's gone full-on dark arts, it doesn't even seem like an option. Sam's more off-the-rails than ever, and Castiel's nowhere near capable of handling this level of shit. Frankly, Dean doesn't even want him to try. This feels like airing dirty laundry, like starring in some extra fucked-up episode of Jerry Springer. Sam's problems are for  _Dean_  to handle- they're family business, and Castiel's not family.

Dean's going to have to talk to Castiel again, and he's going to have to be blunt this time. He decides to do it tomorrow morning and, with any luck, Castiel and Sam will have gone their separate ways by evening. It'll be awkward to keep switching from dealing with Castiel to watching over Sam, but Dean can handle it.

Sam seems uncomfortable in the car, repeatedly glancing over at Castiel. Eventually, he speaks.

"I only exorcised the demon," he says, like it's been bothering him. "The guy he was riding around in is going to be okay."

"Oh," Castiel says. Dean gets the impression that he hadn't really considered the guy's meatsuit in all of this, and can relate. It dawns on Dean that they left  _Ruby_  to deal with a traumatised, unconscious human being, but he quickly pushes the worry aside to go fester somewhere else.

"Who is Lilith?" Castiel asks.

"Some demon," Sam says casually.

"If she's only 'some demon', why are you so determined to track her down?"

"'Cause that's what we do," Sam says. Castiel looks at him for a long while, frowning slightly like he's trying to understand something. Sam notices and shifts away uncomfortably, but nobody says anything. Dean's pleased that he and Sam seem to have the same idea- the less Castiel knows, the easier it'll be for him to get out.

It's night by the time they get back to the motel. Sam falls, face-first, onto his bed.

"See you in the morning," he mumbles, more to his pillow than to anybody else. Castiel lies down on his own bed, but Dean doesn't pay him any attention. He can only cope with one piece of insanity at a time, and he figures that as long as nobody's in danger, it's okay to focus on Sam.

"I know you can't hear me," he says gruffly, walking to stand by the foot of Sam's bed, "but hell, it's not like you ever  _listened_ anyway." He looks down at his brother and shakes his head in disgust.

"Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone?" he demands. "How far from normal? From human?"

A small part of Dean- most likely the part that's conscious of the weight of the wings hanging against his back- points out that it's not like  _he's_ human. That's not fair, though; their situations aren't comparable. Dean is an angel- not just an angel, but a fucking  _guardian_ angel. His sole purpose is to help. That's not the same thing as being able to exorcise demons with your  _mind_. There is something wrong with that. There is something wrong with Sam.

And to think, Dean remembers when all of 'this' was nothing but the occasional dream coming true.

"Slippery slope, brother," Dean says sadly, anger draining away. "Just wait and see. Because it can only get worse, and God knows where it ends."

Did Dean always know that Sam's powers were bad news? He thinks so, but it's hard to remember- so much crap has happened since then that it feels like ancient history. But Dean  _does_ remember a conversation that's determined to push its way into his head, no matter how hard he fights it.

" _Aren't you worried, man? Aren't you worried I could turn into Max or something?"  
"Nope. No way. You know why?"_

Dean remembers Sam as a kid, Sam as a teenager, Sam leaving for Stanford and never looking back-

" _No. Why?"  
"Cause you got one advantage Max didn't have."_

\- Sam screaming for Jess, Sam bleeding and broken, Sam lying dead in his arms-

" _Dad? Because Dad's not here, Dean."  
"No. Me. As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you."_

Dean sits in the nearby, battered chair, resting his head in his hands. He spends a long time watching his little brother sleep and trying his hardest to think of nothing, nothing at all.

* * *

Morning comes and Sam wakes first. He scrawls out a note, which Dean reads over his shoulder:

' _Walked to McDonalds to fetch coffee. Back in 5.  
\- Sam'._

Sam leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, but it's still loud enough to wake Castiel up. Dean waits while Castiel gets up and gets dressed, because he's not in the habit of holding conversations with people who doesn't have pants on.

 _Time to shine,_ Dean thinks grimly. With any luck, Castiel won't take too much persuading. Dean's grudgingly impressed with his ward for not being more freaked out, considering what he saw yesterday; maybe a lifetime of seeing crazy shit that isn't real kind of preps you for the crazy shit that  _is_. All the same, if Castiel has any common sense at all, he'll appreciate that Dean is right: it's time for him to go.

 _ **Morning,**_ Dean says to Castiel, who stiffens.

"Interesting," Castiel mutters.

_**What is?** _

"I didn't think you were still here," Castiel comments.

_**Why not?** _

"I hadn't heard from you in some time." Taking that as a personal slight, Dean materialises.

"Behind you," he says, and takes a malicious glee in how Castiel jumps. Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but something about Dean distracts him. Dean raises an eyebrow as Castiel stares.

"Uh, I know I'm hot, but-"

"You have wings," Castiel says, moving closer in fascination. Dean's surprise renders him temporarily speechless.

"I knew there was  _something_ about you at the hospital, but I couldn't tell what," Castiel continues. "Now I can."

"You can see them?" Dean twists around, expecting to see billows of white or black feathers behind him. There's nothing there.

"Not exactly."

"Thanks, that really clears it up," Dean snorts. "So, uh… what are they like?" It doesn't seem fair that Castiel gets to see Dean's wings when Dean doesn't.

"I couldn't describe them."

"Super," Dean says sarcastically. "How come you can even  _half-_ see them? I mean, I can't."

"Perhaps it's something to do with me being your…"

"Ward, yeah," Dean says. "Must be. Listen, Castiel, we need to talk."

Castiel moves his eyes from beyond Dean's shoulder to focus on his face. "Yes," he agrees, to Dean's surprise. "I wanted to ask something."

This really isn't how this conversation is supposed to go, but Dean figures he can grant the guy one question. "Shoot."

"What Sam can do… I'm guessing it isn't a common ability among hunters," Castiel says. "I realise that demons and angels are strange- but Sam's powers are something stranger still, aren't they?"

"Yes," Dean says curtly.

"They scare you."

"What?" Dean says defensively. "No. Of course they don't."

Castiel's gaze is piercing. "Why are you lying?" he asks, like he genuinely doesn't understand. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, Dean's not answering.

"Forget it, okay?" Dean says irritably. "It doesn't matter. You can't-"

The door opens; Dean disappears. It's not something he can control- as soon as there's even the slightest chance he could be spotted, he gets ripped out of reality without his consent. Dean swears, as loudly as he can- it's not like anybody's going to hear him.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam says to Castiel, concerned, as he shuts the door behind him. "You look confused."

Castiel just shakes his head slowly and doesn't reply. Sam shrugs, hands him his coffee, and Dean gives up.  _Back to the drawing board._

He  _could_ do the whole conversation via Jedi mind-link, but he doesn't trust Castiel not to answer out loud or mouth along. No, the safest bet is to give it a couple more hours and hope that, at some point, Sam gives them a few minutes alone. If not- well, Dean'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Ruby's out doing things that Dean doesn't want to think about, and Sam soon gets Castiel scouring newspapers for signs of a hunt. There's been a murder in a nearby town, but a quick call to the police force working it confirms that it's not their type of thing. Sam trawls through news articles on his laptop. Dean guesses he's hunting for signs of Lilith, and gives up on watching him pretty quickly. He never liked doing research, but it turns out that watching it is even  _more_  boring.

 _ **Hey, put the TV on,**_ he says to Castiel. Castiel obliges, and Dean directs him to an appropriately trashy daytime TV show.

"You like this stuff?" Sam says, glancing up without stopping typing.  _Show-off._

"Uh," Castiel says. "Yes?"

"Fair enough. Dean always used to," Sam says, and then his eyes glaze over and Castiel returns to the newspaper. Dean spends two and a half hours watching a soap opera, and as good as those two and a half hours are, they don't present any chance to talk to Castiel.

Dean's on the verge of ordering Castiel outside to 'get some fresh air' when he notices Sam pull a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. He wanders over as Sam draws a line through a sentence, digging the pen into the paper more viciously than is necessary.

Dean tries to read the list over Sam's shoulder- at least, he  _thinks_  it's a list- but it's hard to understand what's going on. There are notes with arrows and asterisks everywhere, and it must have at least thirty items on it, more than half crossed off. It's confusing, but the more Dean looks, the more things start to make sense.

**Summoning ritual? Check lore**

**CRD deal**

**Reapers (binding/trapping?)**

At the bottom, slightly bigger than the rest and scribbled in a way that makes Dean suspect Sam was drunk when he wrote it, is a single word.

**LILITH**

"I don't-" he begins, but stops himself. He turns away, pushing a hand through his hair. What was he going to say? That he doesn't believe it? Of course he believes it. This is him and Sam, and this is what they do. They pass the baton on, constantly breathing life into the other because they hate every traitorous second the oxygen sits in their own lungs.

It seems like every time Dean makes a plan, Sam steps the crazy up to a new level. Dean can't just sit back and  _watch_ Sam when he knows what he's trying to do- he has to have a failsafe, a way to reach Sam if it looks like those plans are going to be realised. Dean can't speak to Sam without a translator, and it just so happens that the only person in the world who speaks his language is sitting six feet away.

"Don't even think about it," Dean chastises himself, but he  _is_ thinking about it. It would be wrong. It would be very, very wrong. Castiel is the saddest little puppy at the pound, and Dean's been assigned to protect him. If he tries getting clever with this- using Castiel to talk to Sam- he risks pretty much gift-wrapping himself for Alastair.

Sam folds the list closed and Dean notes the heavy creases in the paper. He has no idea how long Sam's been working on this for, but he'd guess it's been a while, and it doesn't look like he's found anything that could actually work yet. With any luck, he never  _will_ \- but can Dean take that chance? He still doesn't trust Castiel to take care of Sam, but what if the advantages of keeping him around outweigh any potential disadvantages?  _Just in case_.

A few hours later, Sam leaves to go and get lunch. It would be the prime time to tell Castiel to get the hell out of dodge- for his own safety if nothing else. Instead, Dean stands in line with Sam at a local burger place and tells himself that he's doing the right thing.

* * *

They find a hunt the next day.

Castiel handled the Witnesses okay, and he barely flinched when Sam exorcized that demon, but this will be his first 'proper' hunt- research, legwork, everything. Dean decides to view it as a trial- a test of whether or not he's made the right decision in keeping Castiel around.

The case isn't demon-related, but Ruby isn't around, and Sam's itching to kill something. There's a lot of interviewing, which Castiel is appalling at, and a lot of waiting, which he's excellent at. There's very little fighting, which is probably a good thing.

They get most of their intel from the second victim's girlfriend- ex-girlfriend now, Dean guesses. Her name is Shelley, and she's so nice that Dean thinks she makes pre-makeover Sandy from  _Grease_ look like a two-bit whore. Her voice trembles when she tells them that she thinks whatever killed Mason wasn't human, and she has to sit down when they agree with her judgement.

Three days later, they've established that they're probably facing a ghoul, but there's been another killing and all of their leads are running dry. Or dead.

"I was  _sure_ it was Jason," Sam says in frustration as he and Castiel walk back to the Impala. He's antsy today, and Dean can't blame him; knowing that something's wrong but not knowing who to blame is a terrible feeling. Castiel, on the other hand, seems unmoved. Dean genuinely doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.

"Well, as Jason was recently reduced to a puddle of bone and gristle, we can probably rule that possibility out," Castiel says, entirely straight-faced.

"Who's left now?" Sam says as they get in the car, Dean teleporting in behind them.

"From the original list of suspects, nobody," Castiel says. "We could contact the police again, but they weren't very cooperative last time."

"Dude, you told them we were hunting a  _ghoul._ "

"We are."

"They're not supposed to know that!"

"I see," Castiel says. He pauses. "Then I don't understand. You told Shelley our intentions, and for all we know, she  _is_ the ghoul."

"No way," Sam says. "I mean, I get what you're saying, but  _Shelley_?"

"It's not impossible. The lore you found said that ghouls take on the forms of their victims, and Shelley- or, at least, the girl we believe to be Shelley- seemed remarkably devoted to keeping us away from the basement." Dean remembers that and curses.  _Flooded, my ass._

"If she was the ghoul, why would she kill Jason?" Sam argues, but Dean can tell he's already half-convinced. "Why not let him take the blame?"

"Jason was a friend of her partner, and she was aware he was in communication with us. So if Jason were to discover the truth about what happened to Mason-"

"- she'd have to kill him to keep him quiet," Sam says excitedly. Dean thinks this is the most animated he's seen Sam since he got back. "It all fits. Castiel, when did you work this out?"

"I didn't," Castiel says. "I was only stating facts. Though now you've pointed it out, it does seem likely."

"I'll say," Sam says. "Nice work, man."

Castiel looks perplexed at the compliment. Sam turns the key and the car roars into life.

"Let's go take out a ghoul," he grins.

* * *

The next day, Ruby phones, flagging up demonic activity in Texas. They head off but get pulled into another case- demons in a café- on the way. A demon advances towards Sam, snarling, and he holds out his hand up and out like before. Dean braces himself, but nothing happens. The demon starts to laugh.

"You're out of juice, boy," it leers, showing its teeth. Ruby appears wordlessly behind it and rams the knife up its back. Castiel watches the lights within it flash and go out and seems, as ever, undaunted.

 _ **Killed it,**_ Dean tells him as Ruby yanks the knife back out and wipes the blood off on her jeans.  _ **Not just exorcised, stone-cold dead.**_

_**Why don't you do that with all demons?** _

_**I'd like to.**_ That sounds more psychopathic than Dean had intended, so he elaborates. _ **But it kills the host, so it's not great.**_

That Ruby still has the knife means Sam doesn't even  _have_ to use his freaky-ass mind powers, but Dean doesn't want to go into that. If the ghoul case was a test, then Castiel passed, but that doesn't mean he has to know everything _._  Maybe it's dickish of Dean, but he wants Castiel there as an emergency phone-line to Sam, as the shotgun you keep under the bed 'just in case'. He certainly doesn't want Castiel's  _advice_.

As soon as the last demon hits the floor, Sam turns angrily towards Ruby.

"Ruby, what the hell?" he says. "You can't disappear on me like that."

"Can, did, will do again," she says, blasé. "And, for the record, you seriously screwed that one up."

"You haven't been here!" Sam snaps. "What was I supposed to do?"

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what is so broken in his little brother that Sam is incapable of functioning without input from the devil on his shoulder. He doesn't know why Sam's powers suddenly malfunctioned, but if it's some kind of demonic performance anxiety that Sam needs Ruby's coaxing to get past, then this situation is somehow  _even more fucked up_  than Dean had imagined.

"What am I, your mother?" Ruby says crabbily. When Sam doesn't reply, she nods towards one of the bodies on the floor. "You want to take care of that?" she says, nudging the demon's corpse with her foot. Bright-red blood bubbles from the wound in its chest.

"If I have to," Sam says, almost sulkily.

"You know you do, so man up and deal with it. I'll take the baby out for a walk." She closes a hand around Castiel's arm, and he flinches at the touch.

Dean doesn't really want to watch Sam clear up bodies, and he  _really_  doesn't want to leave his ward alone with a demonic mega-bitch, so he follows Ruby and Castiel out.

"Castiel, right?" Ruby says once they're outside, like they met in the supermarket once rather than spending an hour fighting off vengeful spirits together. "How're you finding the exciting world of hunting?"

Castiel considers this. "Messy," he decides. "I was unaware of how much blood beheading can produce."

Ruby laughs, throwing her head back. "You know, you're almost making me want to keep you around."

 _ **Tell her to go fuck herself,**_ Dean grunts.

"That seems ill-advised," Castiel says out loud. Ruby looks at him oddly, and Castiel realises his mistake.

 _ **Are you kidding me?**_ Dean says in exasperation.

 _ **Holding multiple conversations is complex,**_ Castiel defends himself, on the right channel this time.

"So you don't want to stay?" Ruby asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I enjoy hunting," Castiel says. "I want to carry on doing it."

 _ **Seriously?**_ Dean asks Castiel. He's been focusing more on observing than interacting, and that means he's had minimal contact with his ward. Every now and again, they share an awkward 'y'alright?'-'yeah' exchange, but it feels forced. Dean had assumed that Castiel was hunting because it was something to do, not because he took any kind of pleasure in it. Hell, Castiel never even  _smiles._

 _ **Yes,**_ Castiel replies. _ **I like helping people.**_

 _ **Good to know, I guess,**_ Dean says, but Ruby's talking over him and Castiel switches focus accordingly.

"And our company's been so scintillating that you're desperate to stick around?" she says dryly.

"So far your presence has been minimal and Sam's conversation lacking," Castiel says matter-of-factly, "but yes. I would like to… 'stick around'."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel says. "It feels like the correct thing to do."

Dean doesn't like this. He remembers Sam saying something similar- claiming that keeping Castiel around 'felt right'. One person, Dean could put down to meaningless bullcrap. Two is  _still_ bullcrap, but maybe not so meaningless.

"You do know what I am, right?" Ruby asks, moving forwards. For someone with no concept of personal space, Castiel seems disturbed by how close she gets.

"I- I don't understand," he says eventually. Ruby smiles, flicking her tongue across her teeth, and blinks. Her eyes are awash with black when she opens them, and Castiel stumbles back. Dean can sense the fear coming Castiel, can feel it curdling in his own gut, and he wants to congratulate his ward for finally finding some common fucking sense.

"Didn't Sam tell you?" Ruby says casually, clearly enjoying his panic. "I'm a demon."

"I thought we hunted demons," Castiel says shakily.

"I'm an exception." She looks at him hard, amusement gone from her face. "Unless, that is, you'd  _like_ to hunt me."

 _ **I would,**_ Dean volunteers.

"Well?" Ruby says.

 _ **Tell me what to do,**_ Castiel thinks desperately.

Oh, that's not even  _fair._ What Dean really wants to tell Castiel to do is to smash her head against the nearest wall, but Ruby could take him out without breaking a sweat. Even if he did somehow manage to take her by surprise, Dean's not sure what Sam would do to Castiel afterwards.

 _ **You can work with her, but you can't trust her,**_ Dean says.  _ **Don't tell her anything about yourself and don't put your life in her hands. Say no, you won't hunt her- but don't forget that when it comes down to it, she's still a demon. Make sure you remember that.**_

"No," Castiel says measuredly. "I would not."

"Good." Ruby blinks again, and her eyelids pull the black away like windscreen wipers. "Glad we had this talk. Anything else you'd like clearing up?"

"Who is Lilith?" Castiel asks, for what feels like the hundredth time.

"She's a demon. Way less good-natured than me."

"Why does Sam want to kill her so badly?"

"Aww, come on, Castiel. It wouldn't be fair of me to spill Sam's secrets."

As if on cue, the door opens and Sam slips out to join them.

"Hey!" Sam sounds much brighter, smiling as he approaches. "You guys good?"

"Euphoric," Ruby says dryly. "Everything go okay?"

"Great, yeah," he says. "So- Texas?"

Ruby shakes her head. "Too late. Demon's moved on, but I got you a present to make up for it. There's some stuff going on in Colorado- lots of fear, lots of paranoia, lots of death. Your kind of thing, Sammy."

" _Don't_ ," he says instantly, his smile vanishing. Ruby grins.

"It should be enough to keep you busy while I'm gone," she continues. "Just make sure you keep an eye out for anything that could lead us to Lilith."

"Always," Sam says determinedly.

* * *

Dean has to admit that it's difficult having to spend so much of his time in a state of non-existence. No matter how much he tells himself it's useless, he still finds himself trying to talk to people or to grab things off a table. Dean's new body never gets hungry or tired, and he's kind of glad that the company he keeps has such fucked up sleep patterns. It means there's usually someone around to watch.

It's mostly Sam, to be honest. Castiel's handling things okay, Dean guesses, but he and Dean don't really talk to each other. It's nothing personal; Dean just doesn't think they have much to talk about.

Unlike Sam. There's a  _lot_ he needs to talk about with Sam.

After the Colorado hunt's over, they drive to the next one- no rest for the wicked and all that. They've been on the road for about five hours when Sam yawns for the third time in two minutes.

"You should sleep," Castiel says.

"Nah, I'm fine."

Dean's spent enough sleepless nights with his brother to know Sam's 'stages of tiredness', and he knows for a fact that Sam hasn't closed his eyes for more than a minute in at least three days now.

 _ **He's lying,**_ Dean tells Castiel.  _ **Make him get some sleep.**_

"Sleep, Sam," Castiel repeats. "If only for a few hours."

"Seriously, dude, I'm fine." He yawns for the fourth time, and the impact of the statement is considerably lessened. "Okay, maybe you've got a point. Do you know how to drive?"

"No. Sorry."

"No problem. We'll just have to pull over for a little while, that's all."

"Should I stay awake?" Castiel asks when the car stills.

"What, like a guard shift? No, it's fine, you sleep. Hey, you can get in the back if you want." Dean sits up, alert- incorporeal or not, he is  _definitely_ moving if people are going to start lying down on him- but Castiel shakes his head.

"This will be fine, thank you."

Dean sits and watches until they both fall asleep.

Sam and Castiel's relationship is… strange. They talk way more regularly than Dean and Castiel do, but Sam doesn't actually seem to  _say_ anything. He keeps Castiel at arm's length, neatly clipping out the parts of cases that he doesn't think Castiel needs to know about, and whilst Castiel asks questions, he never pushes too hard when Sam doesn't answer them.

On the rare occasions that Sam does try opening up a little, they never get very far. Either Castiel doesn't realise what's going on, or Sam 'gets a hold of himself' and shuts the conversation down. It's a familiarity rather than a friendship, limping along on empty exchanges, and Dean wonders how far they can stretch that out before it falls apart.

"Did I mention dreamwalking?" a voice says from next to him, and Dean nearly hits the roof.

"Jesus, Anna," he croaks. "Some people say 'hello'."

Anna ignores him. "Inias suggested it, actually. I didn't even realise that I hadn't told you."

"Go on," Dean says warily.

"You can enter another person's dreams," she explains. "You'll be able to address the person directly. They'll remember what you discussed when they wake up, a little more vividly than they would for a normal dream."

"Isn't that more demon territory?"

"You could say the same thing about teleportation," Anna points out. "Most of your powers only work on your ward, but dreamwalking's an exception. You can enter anybody's dreams. I guess maybe it was supposed to be a way of figuring out if they were planning to hurt your ward, I don't know. The reasoning behind what guardians can and can't do doesn't always make sense."

Dean doesn't really give a crap about the 'why'. "You're telling me I can go into Sam's dreams?" he says slowly.

"Yes," Anna says. "But use it responsibly, okay? Don't do it too often, don't do it for too long, and  _don't_ tell him anything about your true state. He has to believe that you're a dream and nothing more."

"Dream, got it." Forget the details- he gets to  _talk_ to  _Sam._

"I'm serious, Dean."

"I know," he says. "Thank you, Anna. Seriously."

"I thought it might cheer you up," she says, her grin bobbing back to the surface. "You can try it now, if you want."

"Great!" he says, and then pauses. "Uh, how do I…?"

"Close your eyes, and enter the trance state we discussed before."

"We discussed it?"

"You don't remember?"

Dean feels like he's been called out for not listening in class. "Oh, the  _trance_ state," he says, and closes his eyes before Anna can launch into a lecture.

"It's different for everyone," she 'reminds' him. "You might have to experiment."

"Like how?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"Helpful."

"I'm not a guardian, Dean. It's easier for-"

"Okay, I get it," he mutters, eager to avoid another speech on how awesome it is to be a fully blown angel, and how much it must suck to be a freak-of-nature hybrid like himself.

"Relax," Anna advises, but Dean isn't sure he remembers  _how._ He tries slowing his breathing, but it sounds like he's preparing to give birth or something, so he drops that. He has a stab at 'emptying his mind', but no matter how much he dumps out, fragments of thoughts cling on, and the more he tries to ignore them the louder they get. It's like trying to dust off debris with superglue on your hands.

"Some find it useful to hum or chant," Anna suggests.

"Ommmmmmm," Dean tries doubtfully, but he feels like someone's about to force him into the lotus position or start lighting incense. They work through a few more 'standard' methods before Dean decides to try something a little closer to home.

"What are you singing?" Anna asks curiously. Dean ignores her, and continues to focus on the lyrics to 'Stairway to Heaven'.

He's about to give up when he  _feels_ himself detach. The best description he can give is that it's like that sudden falling sensation that sometimes jolts you awake- except here, it's in reverse. Dean's limbs feel a long way away, like weights tying down balloons, and the only things that actually feel  _real_ are his wings. It's by far the weirdest sensation Dean's ever felt, and that's impressive considering its competition.

"Dean?" Anna says. He tries to speak, but finds he can't remember how. He's floating, lost somewhere in complete blackness, and he doesn't think he could open his eyes if he tried. He doesn't even know where his eyes  _are._

"If you can't speak, don't panic," Anna tells him when he begins to do exactly that. "That's normal, it means it's working. You're nearly there. All you need to do is focus on where you want to end up- but Dean,  _don't_ tell him anything!" she says right before Dean slips away.

It's easy, actually, as easy as crossing a room. It's strange to find himself standing in what he's pretty sure was one of their many high schools, but at least nobody's screaming.

"Dean?" an achingly familiar voice says behind him. Dean swallows hard and turns around.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says.

Sam looks around. "Dreaming, right?" he asks.

Dean blinks back tears and forces a grin. "You bet," he gets out.

Sam gives a tired nod, but doesn't say any more.

"So… you good?" Dean asks stupidly. He can't help it; this whole situation is about eight different kinds of bizarre.

"I'm okay," Sam says. He doesn't  _look_  okay, Dean thinks. He looks tired, and sad, and somehow softer than when he's awake. More breakable, or maybe already broken. It's hard to tell.

"Yeah, right," Dean says. "Let's try this again- how are you? Really?"

"Crappy," Sam says bluntly.

"How come?" Dean asks. Sam stares.

"Dean, I don't know what to do without you," he says incredulously, like he has no idea how Dean isn't getting this.

"You never had that problem before," Dean points out, trying not to sound bitter. "You could re-enrol for Stanford."

"What, and you'd be fine with me just upping and dropping hunting?"

Dean hesitates. He wants Sam to live a normal life, but that'd be pretty difficult if the whole damn  _world_ ended. Sam knows that Lilith is breaking Seals, and Dean doesn't know that he'd be okay with Sam just walking away from that.

"I don't know," Dean admits eventually.

"Welcome to my world," Sam laughs. It's a nasty, heavy sound.

"Going kamikaze on Lilith isn't the answer, you know," Dean says, his eyes narrowing.

"Then what is?" Sam asks, and it's not rhetorical: he genuinely wants an answer. Dean opens his mouth to reply and finds himself in the backseat of a Chevy Impala.

"Huh?" Sam mumbles. Ruby's next to him, shaking him awake.  _Figures._

"We got leads," she tells him, eyes glimmering with excitement.

* * *

'Leads' means more demons and more psychic killings. They've got the formula down to a fine art by now. They arrive at the place, stake it out, and either lure the demon into a trap or force it in using heavy weaponry.

Castiel's job is to do whatever the hell he's told, which is mostly standing around and waiting. They wake him up at stupid hours in the morning and drag him out in thunderstorms and pouring rain, and he goes along with all of it. Once or twice, he asks questions about who they're going after and why, but he never gets an answer. Dean's glad. There's a big difference between 'helping out on hunts' and 'being a hunter', and Dean's still determined that Castiel will only ever know the former.

Castiel's been with Sam- and Dean with Castiel- for about three weeks when Travis rings.

"What's a rugaru?" Castiel asks as they start the long drive to Missouri.

"Genetic mutation," Sam answers. "Not a fun one. They're cannibals, and once they've fed once they transform completely. It's like a time bomb- everything's going fine and then one day? They snap."

"Can they be killed?"

Sam drums his fingers on the wheel. He seems on edge. "I did some research. Looks like fire is the only thing that works."

"That sounds unpleasant."

"It will be." Castiel stares out the window instead of replying.

 _ **It's not that bad,**_ Dean says. He doesn't believe himself- this sounds like it's going to be horrific, actually- but he figures it's an appropriately guardian-y thing to say.

 _ **Have you ever hunted one?**_ Castiel asks.

_**Nah, but Dad did. They're no big deal. Just, you know… flame 'em.** _

_**I'm not entirely convinced that you mean that,**_ Castiel says seriously.

 _ **Whatever**_.

 _ **I'm not concerned,**_ Castiel tells him.  _ **It has to be done.**_

Dean can't really tell if Castiel means it or not; he still hasn't got this pain in the ass 'psychic link' figured out yet. He can pick up extreme emotions easily- even if they're sometimes hard to separate from his own - but Castiel rarely feels  _anything_  'extremely'. The closest he gets are occasional bursts of surprise, usually accompanied by the 'ward in danger! ward in danger!' alarm clanging away in Dean's head.

Sam and Castiel stake out the suspect's house, waiting for something weird to happen. Dean wanders around inside, keeping one eye on their man Jack and wishing someone would put the TV on.

 _ **He seems fine,**_ Dean complains to Castiel.  _ **He's boring.**_

_**Sam is confident that this is him.** _

_**Yeah, well- wait, hold the phone.** _

_**I do not have a phone.** _

Dean ignores Castiel. Jack's ripping apart a chicken carcass with his bare hands, plunging his face directly into the meat.

"Dude, I might not have the best table manners, but even  _I_  think that's gross," Dean says in disgust. Jack obviously doesn't hear, and proceeds to tear open a package of raw meat and begin to devour it. Dean turns his head away, thoroughly grossed out, and teleports back outside.

"That is… disgusting," Sam says, staring through the binoculars. Castiel, who lacks both binoculars and the ability to become see-through, simply nods.

"So we kill him?" he questions.

"Yeah," Sam says resignedly. "C'mon, stuff's in the car." His jittery nerves from earlier seem to have decayed into a bone-deep apathy. Dean's not looking forward to this.

When Jack bursts out of his front door, visibly distressed about something or other, he passes the Impala and gets no further. Jack may be strong but Sam takes him by surprise, clamping one hand over Jack's mouth and the other around his throat. Sam drags Jack into the alleyway and then forces him to walk, leading him to the empty house that they scouted out when they realised things were gonna have to get ugly.

When they reach the front door, Jack panics and tries to bolt, but Castiel emerges from the shadows and helps to force him inside.

"Please," Jack pants when Sam's hand is finally pulled from his mouth, "leave me alone. Whatever you want, I'll get you it, I- no!" he shouts when Sam turns back to face him, something black and glistening in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Sam says, and then he strikes Jack as hard as he can with the butt of flamethrower. There's a wet thud as the weapon collides with Jack's skull, and he's unconscious by the time he hits the ground. Sam pulls out the lighter.

Dean can avert his eyes and block his ears, but he can't block out the smell.

"That's enough," Sam says eventually. He walks away, head down, and Castiel follows. Killing Jack was the right thing to do- the right decision to make- and the fact that Sam made it so readily scares the crap out of Dean.

Only once they're back in the car does Castiel speak. "I thought he'd be more… monstrous."

"Yeah," Sam says heavily. "I won't lie to you, it sucks. But you can't afford to think like that." He looks over at Castiel, hoping for some kind of agreement or reassurance, but gets nothing.

"I mean, sure, you can examine every single person and every single case to see if there's a better solution than just ganking and going," Sam justifies, eyes back on the road, "but I can't afford to waste time like that. There's other stuff that has to come first, y'know?"

"Like what?"

"It's my business," Sam says, not unkindly but leaving no room for argument. "You don't want to get tangled up in it." After a moment's thought, he adds "Sorry."

"You've no reason to feel regret," Castiel says. Sam snorts, sounding bitter, but the meaning is lost on Castiel.

"Yeah, well," Sam says, and just like that, another conversation is over.

* * *

It's not until the following night that Sam finally goes to sleep and Dean gets the chance to ask him about the rugaru case. Their conversations rarely get to last for long, and so far Dean's been pretty careful to keep things focused on their past, or the non-hunting parts of Sam's life- things Heaven can't get pissy about. Tonight, though, he wants to push the boundaries. After all, if Sam thinks that Dean is a part of his own mind, then surely it makes sense that the Dean of his dreams knows everything Sam does.

"So tell me about Jack," Dean says. They're sat in a garden Dean doesn't recognise, air rippling with a gentle breeze. It's as nice a setting for this conversation as any.

"Jack?"

"The rugaru," Dean says, though Sam knows exactly who he's damn well talking about.

"Oh," Sam says. "I'd forgotten."

 _Liar._ "That, uh… go okay?" Dean asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you torched that thing pretty quickly. I thought you'd be more likely to plait the guy's hair and ask him about his feelings." The joke garners a smile from Sam, but not one that lasts for long.

"Things change," Sam says. "People change."

"Only if they want to." Dean catches Sam's gaze. Sam looks away first.

"I don't  _want_  to," Sam says. "I have to. Killing Lilith, making up for what happened to you… it's the only thing that matters."

"What about helping people?" Dean says. "Doesn't that matter to you anymore?"

"Of course it does," Sam says heatedly, "but it's not my job. Not anymore. Hell, I only worked that last case because with all Ruby's leads running dry, I was kinda climbing the walls."

"So what, the world can go hang so long as you get revenge?" Dean demands. "Dammit, Sammy, I thought you were better than that."

"And I thought I could save you!" Sam snaps, whirling to face Dean. The anger drains from him all in one go and his fists unclench. "I guess both of us were wrong," he says heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Sam," Dean says, voice gentler now. "I get what you're saying, but your powers… I'm all for roasting Lilith, but the psychic crap?" Sam doesn't say anything. "You said you wouldn't go down that route."

"I don't want to talk about this," Sam says quietly and, just like that, the scene changes. They're in Bobby's house and when Dean looks back at his brother, Sam is around eight years old. He's smiling.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam says, grabbing Dean's hand and tugging him towards the sofa. "I wanna watch cartoons."

Dean stops him, standing still and turning Sam's hand over in his. It's small and the skin is soft, free of calluses or scars. He meets Sam's eyes- wide and innocent and sweet- and smiles back.

"Sure thing," he says.

* * *

Time passes, October draws to a close, and Sam's the same as ever. He swings between lows where everything he says is biting, laced with sarcasm or nihilism, and highs where he's so restless and jittery that Dean starts to wonder if he's on drugs. Dean dreamwalks as often as he can, but every time he brings up Lilith or Sam's powers, Sam shuts him down. It's frustrating, but if it's that or not talking to Sam at all, then Dean will have conversations about My Little friggin' Pony if that's what his brother wants.

Castiel hasn't changed much either. He still follows his orders (whether given by human, demon or guardian angel), but he's yet to be trusted with anything of actual importance. Dean can't help but suspect that, soon, Castiel will get bored of being told to wait in the car or do research, realise that he'd far rather be somewhere else, and tell Sam that he's leaving. Dean doesn't know what he'll do then. Dean hasn't caught Sam looking at his list again, but he can't watch Sam every second of every day- if nothing else, when Sam and Ruby book one room with one double bed, Dean's not hanging around to watch. He caught a glimpse of them together once, and seriously, Hell was pleasant by comparison.

It's strange, because Castiel may be Dean's ward, but he occupies very little of Dean's thoughts. Their conversations, either mental or physical, are sparse. Sometimes, Dean feels bad about that, but he doesn't see a point when Castiel never seems to be affected by what he sees. It's rare for Dean to sense any kind of fear or anxiety coming from Castiel, which is freakin' weird, but who's Dean to judge? Some people are better at this than others- maybe, just for once, Dean had a streak of good luck and got assigned a ward who isn't anxious about things going 'bump' in the night.

Dean still doesn't know what to think of Ruby. The mutated monstrosity of her true face won't let him forget that she's the kind of thing he's spent his life trying to kill, but the fact remains that if Ruby wanted Sam dead, she's had more than enough chances. For whatever reason, she keeps on protecting him, reassuring him, picking him up when he's down. She seems to view Castiel as a stray mutt that's insistent on following them around, but she certainly doesn't try to hurt him. Sam clearly trusts her- in fact, Dean's starting to think that he might  _love_ her, which is about a thousand times worse.

As for Dean himself, he may not like the way things are, but he's adjusting to them all the same. He doesn't feel the weight of his wings any more than he feels the weight of his legs, and he's stopped trying to grab door handles. Spending most of his time feeling like he doesn't exist can get depressing, but talking to Sam at night helps. The angels are leaving him alone for now, and he doesn't visit them in Heaven. Why would he?

He only visits Bobby once. The older hunter stays up long into the night, drinking and researching and looking so damn lonely that it makes Dean burn with guilt. Bobby lost Dean, and now he's lost Sam too. Dean's gonna have to see what he can do about that.

The day before Halloween, a guy eats a piece of candy and somehow swallows four razor blades in the process. It's demon down-time, so Sam and Castiel go and check it out. There's a whole lot of nasty crap going on, and at every scene of death, they find a hex-bag.

Witches _,_ man. So friggin' skeevy.

At some ungodly hour in the morning, after five hours of solid research, Sam suddenly sits up a little straighter. Dean flickers into place behind his shoulder and reads. He sees words like 'Samhain' and 'summoning' and 'sacrifice'- and, most importantly, 'Seal'.

"Sam?" Castiel questions. "Have you found something?"

"They're not just killings," Sam says excitedly, "they're sacrifices. Whoever did this was working a spell."

"A spell for what?"

"Doesn't say," Sam lies, and Dean nods in approval. Castiel still has no idea what 'Seals' are, and Dean is pleased that Sam's keeping it that way.

"It says that there's a spell, but not what the spell does?"

"I know," Sam says, managing to sound appropriately irritated. "We should phone someone who might know more."

Sam makes the call, and when he starts the conversation with "Hey, Ruby, it's me," Dean abandons his vain hopes that Sam was talking about contacting Bobby.

"Listen," Sam tells her, "I think I found something. Yeah, like before- no- I- listen, if it was just petty witch crap, do you really think I'd be calling you? Exactly. No, I mean like  _before_."

Dean hears the clacking of heels outside, and their door swings open.

"Dorothy," Ruby nods at Sam. She looks at Castiel and smirks. "Toto."

Castiel looks back blankly, and Ruby rolls her eyes. "So?" she asks Sam.

Sam hesitates. "Castiel, did you wanna go some food or something? You must be getting hungry."

"Not particularly."

 _ **They want you to leave,**_ Dean supplies before the awkward silence goes on for too long.

 _ **Oh.**_ Castiel stands up. "I meant yes," he says, utterly unconvincingly, and goes outside.  _ **Where should I go?**_ he asks Dean.

_**You heard them. Go get food or go for a walk or something. They'll be five minutes, tops.** _

_**Why don't they want me there?** _

_**No idea,**_ Dean lies. _ **Just roll with it.**_

And Castiel, as ever, does what he's told. Dean's still not great at reading this 'the hell is my ward?' map in his head, but he can tell that Castiel doesn't go far. He feels guilty for not going with him, but this is more important.

"So I'm guessing that you still haven't told the newest toy in the box about the Seals," Ruby says, picking up one of the books on Sam's bed and flicking through it.

"I don't think there's any reason why I should," Sam says stiffly.

"You're the one who asked him to hunt with us. You're the one who told him about  _Lilith._ "

"Only the name," Sam argues. "And just because I think he's useful as backup on hunts doesn't mean he'd be useful dealing with the  _end of the world_. Come on, you saw where I picked the guy up. I don't wanna scare him."

"And you don't think ghouls and demons are scary?" Ruby says, still turning pages. Sam stills her hand and points at a passage.

"There," he indicates. "And you know what I meant. I don't want him getting dragged into my crap, and I  _definitely_  don't want him on Lilith's radar. The less he knows, the safer he'll be."

"You don't trust him," Ruby says, not looking up from the page.

"I didn't say that."

"I did," Ruby says bluntly, "and I  _don't_. There's something weird about him, Sam."

Sam shifts uncomfortably. "I know he can be hard to talk to-"

"No, it's more than that. He seems harmless enough, but there's something about him. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. You barely let him do anything, and for good reason. Why do you keep him around?"

Dean thinks that's a little unfair. Castiel's certainly not the ideal choice for this, but he's hardly dangerous. Besides, who are  _they_ to talk about normal? A demon and a boy who can exorcise them by thinking real hard about it?  _Give me a break._

"He's good at research," Sam argues. "And I don't know, having someone around again has been… nice."

"What, so I don't count?"

"Of course you do! I only meant-"

"I know what you meant," she says, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "But Sam, trust me on this. Castiel's much better off living his own life, far away from ours. Maybe it's time to think about cutting him loose."

Sam goes quiet. "I'll think about it," he says, and whilst Dean knows that Ruby's got a damn good point, suddenly he's not sure if it's good  _enough._  Dean's always hated not being able to tell right from wrong, and these days nothing's black and white anymore. He can't help but feel like maybe they shouldn't be having this conversation without Castiel in the room.

"So- Samhain?" Ruby says, dropping the book back onto the bed.

"It all fits," Sam says.

"Sure looks that way," she agrees. "This is actually good news."

"What do you mean?"

"If this  _is_ Samhain, then it's nothing more than another demon case, and you've got a lot of experience handling those. Wait until he rises and do your thing. Boom. Problem solved, Seal intact."

"But the final sacrifice," Sam says, troubled. "It said there had to be three. That means somebody else has to die for them to summon Samhain. We can't let that happen, Ruby."

"We can't?"

"No!"

" _Eugh_ ," Ruby says. "Fine. But for now, just concentrate on finding out who's doing this, because you're going to need to be there when Samhain shows up-  _if_ he shows up," she amends when Sam shoots her a glare.

"Okay," Sam says, though he doesn't sound convinced.

"Wonderful. In that case, I'll go find our boy wonder and bring him back home," Ruby says. "After all, it can be scary out there."

Ruby's gone before Sam can object. Dean's plan is to find Castiel before she does- whether he's judged Ruby rightly or not, he still doesn't trust her alone with his ward- but somebody else appears in the room before he can go anywhere. Dean sighs.

"Spare me the lecture," Dean says, getting in early. "I shouldn't have let him go off alone, I get it."

"No, you probably shouldn't," Inias says mildly. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Yeah?" Dean says suspiciously.

"You've been summoned, Dean. Somebody wants to talk to you."

"I'm really not that hard to find."

"I did suggest he came to Earth, but he seemed insulted by the prospect."

"That does sound like Zachariah."

"Maybe so, but I'm not talking about him." Inias says it professionally, but with a light in his eyes that Dean thinks might be amusement. "His name is Uriel."

"When you say 'talk', do you mean actual talking or the kind with knives?"

"He wants to speak with you," Inias clarifies. "That's all."

"Okay," Dean says reluctantly. Inias holds an arm out and Dean touches his hand to it, and then the Earth is gone.

* * *

The place they arrive at cannot possibly exist.

The sky and land drift into each other with no clear horizon. In the corner of Dean's vision, the colours of the world blend and run, and the landscape won't stop shifting around him. It's very, very bright.

"This is about as close to an angel's Heaven as you can perceive," Inias explains. "Our true forms move in a plane very different to the one you're used to. Most of us use the defaults when talking to guardians, but Uriel prefers not to. If it gets too overwhelming, just let him know, and I'm sure he'll shift things for you."

 _Yeah, because that's gonna happen._ Dean's already decided not to give Uriel that particular satisfaction, even if his eyeballs start melting in his skull. At least his wings seem happy enough- Dean thinks they might actually be  _wafting_  behind him.

"Let's get this over and done with," Dean says. Inias nods, and a dark skinned man appears by his side. Dean wonders if it's some kind of Heaven-enforced regulation that all angels must wear suits- and, if so, how Anna ended up in jeans.

"I had to take a  _vessel_ _,_ " the angel says to Inias in disgust.

"I know, Uriel," Inias says apologetically, "but it's not for very long- and there  _are_  some benefits to it."

"Which I have no interest in hearing," Uriel snaps. He lowers his head. "My apologies, brother. This mind angers more easily than my own."

"I understand," Inias comforts. "I've brought Dean Winchester as you asked. Dean, this is Uriel."

Uriel looks at Dean in much the same way that a businessman would look at a pile of shit he's been asked to pick up with his bare hands.

"Thank you, Inias," Uriel says. "We will need to speak privately."

"Of course," Inias says. "Let me know when I'm needed. Goodbye, Dean." Inias disappears, and Dean starts to wish he hadn't.

Uriel stands back and stares, and suddenly Dean's not all that sure that his thoughts are private. Experimentally, he tries blocking them off- thinking of nothing, throwing up defences- and the annoyance is evident on Uriel's face. Yeah, Dean's gonna go ahead and feel smug.

"Dean Winchester," Uriel says, forced into verbalisation. "The newest guardian. How is Castiel?"

"He's fine," Dean says guardedly. "Considering."

"Considering his vain attempts to prevent Armageddon?" Uriel says smoothly. Dean thinks about lying, but a glance at Uriel's face urges him to reconsider.

"Something like that," he agrees instead.

"And it never occurred to you to share this discovery with us?" Uriel says.

If Dean's being honest, it hadn't even crossed his mind; he's spent a very long time handling this type of crap without having to report back to a boss. "My bad," he shrugs. Uriel doesn't like that.

"I think the significance of what's happening here is lost on you," Uriel snarls. "Recall your days in Hell, hybrid, and ask yourself if you wish to force the entire planet through the same."

"They're stopping it, okay?" Dean snaps. "Sam's zeroed in on ending Lilith, and now that the angels have found out-"

Uriel cuts him off. "We 'found out' the instant that the first Seal was broken."

"The  _instant_?" Dean presses, not buying it.

"It was near-impossible to miss," Uriel says bitingly. If that's meant to be an insult, Dean thinks, then it's a crummy one.

"So let me get this straight," Dean says. "This little bitch-fit is because I didn't tell you something you already knew?"

"Consider it a test," Uriel says haughtily. "One which you failed. Miserably."

"Well, I am  _so_  freaking sorry," Dean says. "Did you seriously fly me up here to yell at me for not bringing something to show and tell?"

"I brought you here," Uriel says, stepping forwards and lowering his voice, "to remind you that the grace you're leaching from us is the only thing keeping you safe from the flames and chains of Hell. It may be in your best interests to remain in our good books, and that involves keeping us informed of all things, at all times. Do we have an understanding?"

Dean considers this. "Castiel puts like, five sugars in his coffee," he offers. "That informative enough for you?"

Uriel shuts his eyes. "Get him out of my sight," he says through gritted teeth as Inias reappears.

"No need to thank me," Dean says, and Inias takes him away before he can get himself into any more trouble.

"I apologise for Uriel's lack of tact," Inias says once they touch down back on Earth. "He means well."

"No, he doesn't," Dean disagrees. "He thinks I'm so far beneath him that I'm sharing a room with the Devil himself, and I'm the one with the bottom bunk."

"It's nothing personal," Inias says. "Uriel loves his family and loathes humanity, so he regards guardians as you might a human-rat hybrid."

"Thanks, that helps," Dean says sarcastically, then changes the topic to something else that's bothering him. "You said 'family'. He called you 'brother'."

"Angels don't have blood relations, if that's what you're asking. I consider many my family, but the relation is spiritual, not physical. It's similar to the human view that the world is one."

"Yeah, I get it," Dean says, because that kind of thinking was always a bit too happy-clappy for him. His family is too close to him, too precious, for him to start counting any stranger off the street a part of it. "Does that mean I can badmouth Uriel and you won't punch me in the face?"

Inias stifles his smile, but Dean sees it all the same. "Opinions aside, what Uriel said was true- to a certain extent," he adds hastily when Dean looks at him disbelievingly. "We need to know that we can trust you. You've been given a very valuable gift, Dean. Don't use it to make things hard for yourself."

Dean makes a non-committal noise. "Well, I'd better go check if my ward's been turned into demon-slut fodder," he says, turning to go.

"Wait," Inias calls, stopping him. "There's something you need to know. Time moves differently in Heaven."

Dean doesn't like the sound of that. "Like how?"

"However we want it to," Inias says honestly. "In this case, no time has passed. Well, it has during the duration of this conversation, but-"

"I get it. Thanks, man," Dean says. Inias leaves and Dean closes his eyes. The tug of Castiel's presence, never far from his mind, is easy to tune into and, when he concentrates, easy to read. He's pinned down Castiel's location and arrived at his side in less than twenty seconds.

"Sitting on the roadside at four in the morning," Dean says, looking down at his ward. "Classy."

"I don't see how the time is relevant."

"Hey, I'm not judging." He sits down next to Castiel. "I think Ruby's looking for you."

Before Castiel can reply, Ruby appears and Dean is yanked out of visibility, so quickly that there's no way she saw him. Castiel looks confused as fuck, but Dean can hardly do anything about it.

"There you are," Ruby says, dropping her hands onto Castiel's shoulders. "C'mon, we got a witch to find."

Sam and Castiel grab a couple of hours' sleep before they begin their search. They talk to a few people, check up on a few leads- including one of the douchiest teachers Dean's ever had the misfortune to come across- and have made a good amount of progress by the time evening swings around.

Ruby vanishes as Ruby tends to do, and Sam heads back to the motel alone. Castiel's put in charge of buying food from the takeout place across the road. Dean sticks with his ward, mostly because it means he can make Castiel buy him a burger. Dean has to lurk in a dingy alleyway like some meat-craving mugger and he rushes the thing down in about five bites, but it's so very worth it.

Castiel doesn't wait, and Dean catches up with him right before he reaches the motel. When they enter their room, Anna is waiting.

"Why the sudden influx of angel?" Dean groans. "Don't get me wrong, I'd rather have you than Uriel, but-"

"Castiel," Sam says, standing up as they walk in. "This is Anna."

Dean stares. " _What_?" he says. Anna briefly meets Dean's eye, offers him the tiniest flicker of a smile, and then turns her attention to Castiel.

"Hello," Castiel says. "Is she a friend of yours?" he asks Sam.

Sam shakes his head and says, shakily, "I think she just saved our lives."

* * *

Dean spends the duration of their conversation staring sullenly at the hex bag Anna pulled from the motel room wall. He picks up on the general gist of what's being said- Anna is 'vaguely psychic' and was 'passing by' when she 'sensed' the hex-bag and swooped in to help them. Ruby turns up halfway through the tale and stands in the corner, radiating distrust.

"We owe you so much for this," Sam says when Anna finishes talking.

"It's honestly fine," Anna says. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"All the same, you have our thanks," Castiel says. Anna looks at him with soft fondness.

"You're welcome," she says. "All of you. I need to get going, but I'm really glad I could help."

Sam falls over himself to thank her yet again, and she waves goodbye and leaves through the door. When Dean turns around, Anna's back and standing in front of him.

"They can't see me now," she explains.

"Good to know."

"You're angry again," Anna sighs. "I don't understand why you're always so angry. I'm only trying to help."

"How come I didn't know that was in there?" Dean asks, raising his head. "Huh?"

"The hex bag had probably been there for a while, but it was still a few minutes away from activating."

"So how come you knew already?"

"All angels are kept under close surveillance by Heaven," Anna says. "You're no exception. That observation often ends up including Sam and Castiel- more often than not, that's just down to proximity. Somebody observed the hex-bag being planted and alerted Zachariah, who dispatched me to deal with it."

"Why does he even care?"

"Right, like he'd actually tell me," Anna snorts. "All I know is that Heaven don't want Sam or Castiel dead, so they're not. Maybe you should be thanking me."

Behind them, Sam, Castiel and Ruby are discussing their strange visitor.

"I don't like it," Ruby's saying. "I don't buy it. How often do random psychics just drop by to let you know you're in danger?"

"Ava did," Sam says.

"Who?"

Sam looks from Castiel to Ruby. "Right, sorry. I forgot. She was this woman-""

Dean's still wincing at the memory of that particular clusterfuck when Anna moves forwards. "You aren't useless, Dean," she says gently.

"Did I say I was?" Dean says, throwing up every mental block he has.  _It's a little late for that, buddy._

"Did you need to?" Dean doesn't reply. "I know it frustrates you that you can't physically help, but focus on what matters here: your ward is still alive. So is your brother, and so is his…" She lets her voice trail off. Dean doesn't blame her; categorising Ruby isn't an easy task. "They're all safe, and you can still stop this Seal from being broken."

"Yeah, I'll be a real key player," he snaps.

"Perhaps we had best focus on the evil witches currently selecting a third blood sacrifice," Dean overhears Castiel say, completely straight-faced. Anna giggles, and Dean raises an eyebrow.

"What?" she defends. "Heaven's boring, and he's funny."

"Lucky me," Dean mutters. "I guess I'd better get back to Dane Cook over there."

"Good luck," she tells him, and vanishes.

* * *

Once they all quit bitching over mysterious redheads and move onto the actual case, they work hard.

Ruby's still insisting that it all comes back to the razorblade widow, so they spend even more time investigating her. It takes a good three hours before Ruby gives up and agrees that she's innocent. They bring it back to the douchey art teacher eventually, but by then, they're too late. Samhain has already risen.

"Where do you think he's gone?" Castiel asks when they find out, drawing his gun.

"I'd bet on the cemetery," Sam says grimly. "Where else would you go to raise the dark forces of the night?"

"Nightclub?" Ruby suggests. "Walmart?"

"Not the time!" Sam says, already five strides ahead of her.

The three of them (Dean tagging along behind) make it to the mausoleum and clatter down the stairs just as the screaming begins. There's a party going on, thrown by kids who are still young enough to view death as something that happens to other people. Sam orders Ruby and Castiel to hang behind and protect them and then, ignoring Ruby's objections, he goes after Samhain alone.

No matter how lightly Sam tries to tread, his footsteps are still way too loud. Dean flickers back to Ruby and Castiel once or twice to check that nothing world-shaking has happened, but he spends the rest of his time ghosting Sam's footsteps. Everything's going fine until Sam moves to stake a zombie/ghost/ _thing_ , but she vanishes as he swings and reappears behind him. She waves a hand and he slams into the wall, stake skidding across the floor.

"Sam!" Dean shouts. He focuses all of his energy on trying to move the stake, but it's so damn  _heavy_. The spike twitches in place, but there's no way Dean's powers are strong enough to drive it through the zombie's flesh. The monster crouches down and grins at Sam, showing disgusting, rotting teeth.

Castiel turns the corner and breaks into a sprint. Without hesitation, he snatches the stake from the ground (and Dean's fumbling grasp) and lunges forwards. As the zombie turns to snarl, the spike rips straight through its stomach.

"Castiel?" Sam says, staring in wonder as Castiel yanks out the stake, the now inert body falling harmlessly to the side.

"We can't hold them off much longer," Castiel barks, grabbing hold of Sam's shoulders and pulling him to his feet. "Go!"

Sam nods and stumbles down the corridor. Castiel shifts the stake in his grip, turns around and continues his patrol. Dean stares after him, but before he can process what he's seen, he hears a pained grunt from nearby. When Dean gets there, Sam's already stretching a hand towards Samhain.

It doesn't take long.

Ruby arrives and throws her arms around Sam's neck, kissing him long and hard. Castiel walks around the corner a few seconds later, his coat covered in long and strangely linear red streaks. At first Dean has no idea what they are, then Castiel wipes the stake he's clutching against the fabric, and Dean understands.

Back at the motel, Sam collapses onto the bed. Dean gets ready to dreamwalk almost on auto-pilot, but grudgingly stops himself. This is probably on the list of 'Crap Heaven Cares About'.

"Uh, Uriel?" he says out loud. "I got news. Like, actual news."

"Thank you, Dean," a voice says from behind him.

"Huh. That's interesting," Dean comments, because Inias- whilst preferable- isn't the angel he asked for.

"I'm here to take you to Uriel," Inias says.

Dean has to laugh. "You really are just a cab with wings, aren't you?"

A small smile plays on Inias' lips as he holds his arm out. A moment later, Dean's stood back in Uriel's watered-down, human-accessible Heaven. He thinks it's even worse than last time. The entire space oscillates between light so bright it blinds him and a darkness so black that he feels like he's drowning in it, like he's falling and there's nothing at the bottom. Dean's wings shrink and press close to his back.

"Winchester," Uriel says from the darkness.

"We stopped it," Dean says quickly. "Samhain's back in the ground. Seal saved. Everybody wins."

"You think so?" Uriel says with bitter amusement. "His  _rising_ was the Seal, mongrel. It doesn't matter how long he walked the Earth for- only that he was permitted to take the first step."

Dean's stunned into silence. What is there to say? That Ruby told the story differently? Dean trusted a demon and got screwed. What a friggin' shocker  _that_ is. The world is still cycling around them and Dean finds himself squinting as light begins to build again.

"I didn't-" Dean begins.

"Clearly," Uriel spits. The light continues to intensify to the point where Dean has to shut his eyes, but still it grows brighter and brighter until he abandons his resolve and presses his hands over his eyes, doubles over, but it's not working and it's more than bright, it's  _burning-_

"Uriel," Inias says firmly. "Control yourself."

The light drops away to a dull kind of grey.

"Go," Uriel says, turning away from both of them. "I will consult our Father on how to handle this." He disappears, and Inias reaches forward to touch Dean's shoulder. Moments later, they're standing under a street light outside Sam and Castiel's motel.

"I didn't know," Dean says numbly.

"I know," Inias says.

"I get it, I screwed up, but I-"

"Dean, calm down," Inias says. "You can't change what happened. All you can do is focus on stopping the other Seals from breaking."

Dean swallows. "I guess we've got time," he says, but Inias shakes his head grimly.

"Time is one of the things we're disturbingly short on," Inias says.

Dean grimaces. "How many Seals have been broken now? Two?"

"Eight."

" _Eight_?"

"So far. The Seals are being broken in every country, all over the world. We can't..." Inias trails off, his attention elsewhere. "Anna is calling me," he says, and then he's gone.

"Bros before hoes, dude," Dean mutters, and teleports inside. Apparently nobody saw it fit to hit 'pause' this time around, because Castiel's sitting on his bed, but Sam's nowhere to be seen. Dean frowns and materialises.

"Where's Sam?" he asks Castiel. "I thought he usually crashed pretty hard after using his whacko psychic powers."

"He and Ruby paid for their own motel room," Castiel says.

Great, so either they haven't figured out the Seal broke and they're having celebratory sex, or Ruby's plan to let it break worked and  _she's_ having celebratory sex. Sam and Ruby having any variety of sex isn't an image Dean wants in his brain and so he pushes it far, far away. Looks like Dean won't be spending any time in Sam's room tonight.

"Thanks," Dean says limply. He's about to teleport away when Castiel looks up suddenly, pinning him in place with that oddly intense stare.

"What?" Dean says uncomfortably.

"You seem discouraged," Castiel states. Dean snorts.

"Yeah, well tonight was hardly Mardi Gras."

"No worse than usual, and we were successful in our aim. What's happened?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Castiel rises from the bed and moves to face Dean.

"Tell me," he says simply.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing," Dean says, annoyed. "Quit-"

Suddenly, so quickly that Dean doesn't have time to register it, Castiel lunges forwards. He grabs Dean by the lapels of his jacket and slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place. Dean can sense the anger coming off him in tight, jerking waves.

"I am not a child," he says, leaning in close. His voice is low and whilst he's not threatening Dean, there's the definite suggestion that he could be very soon. "Regardless of what you or your brother might think, I know something's going on that you're not telling me about."

"There's noth-" Dean begins, and Castiel's grip on him tightens, Dean's head slipping and banging against the wall. His wings are splayed out awkwardly against the brick and whilst it doesn't exactly hurt, it's far from comfortable.

" _Stop. Lying_ ," Castiel says through gritted teeth. "I deserve the truth, Dean. You appeared to me from nowhere, claiming divine intervention, and I believed you. I do everything you say. I trust your word, implicitly, yet you won't trust me with simple facts."

"It's a long story," Dean snaps, dropping the pretence.

"I have the time," Castiel snarls in reply. Dean's never seen him show this much emotion; hadn't known Castiel  _could_ feel this much. It's a reminder that his ward is more than a nagging sensation in the corner of his mind; that Castiel is a person with likes and dislikes and loves and hates and feelings and emotions and thoughts and that he's  _real._ Dean's not protecting some abstract thought, he's in charge of the life and health and happiness of a real human being, and that sudden insight is somehow dizzying.

"You dislike me," Castiel says. Dean goes to deny it, but Castiel doesn't give him the chance. "I don't know why, and I don't particularly care, but your lack of confidence in me is… frustrating." Castiel's grip on his jacket loosens. The anger Dean can sense spitting from Castiel is beginning to lessen.

"I saved your brother's life today," he says, his voice softer now. "That should count for something."

Maybe it should.

It's all pretty confusing, and Dean's first and strongest instinct is to tell Castiel to go fuck himself, but maybe he  _has_  got a point. Dean's been thinking of him as a vaguely cumbersome necessity, somebody that  _has_  to be there whether Dean likes it or not, but every day brings fresh evidence that Castiel is more than Dean gives him credit for.

Dean can't help but be overly conscious of the hands gripping his arms. He's had to grab onto Inias before to teleport, sure, but the angel is cold and like stone to the touch. Now, Dean can feel Castiel's hot breath against his neck, can sense the heat of his body only inches away, and he hasn't been this close to a living, moving, flesh-and-blood human in over forty goddamn years. These days, Castiel's the only person in the world who  _can_  get this close to him.

He remembers Castiel shattering the bottle from across the room, figuring out who the ghoul was, unquestioningly shooting the ghost of his own mother simply because Sam and Dean told him it was the right thing to do. Dean thinks that out of all the monsters and ghosts and demons he's seen Castiel go up against, the only thing that's ever really managed to piss him off is Dean not taking him seriously.

Maybe it should all count for something. Dean doesn't know.

"Okay," Dean says. He is aware that a fair amount of time has stretched between Castiel's last sentence and his reply. "I... I get you. Why don't you- uh, let me go- and we can talk?"

Castiel looks down at his hands, still gripping onto Dean's jacket, like he'd forgotten the fingers were his. He lets go of the material and steps back slightly, still way too much in Dean's personal space.

"Thank you," Castiel says brusquely. Dean moves to the side and leans against the wall, folding his arms, and after a few seconds Castiel sits down again.

"So," Dean begins. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

That conversation was probably long overdue, because it turns out that when he knows what's going on, Castiel isn't actually that bad a hunter.

Neither is Sam, when you get down to it. They do things Dean wouldn't have done, and sometimes those risks don't work out and Dean feels like a sports fan screaming at his television. Other times, though, he's forced to grudgingly admit that  _okay, maybe that wasn't such a bad plan._

Dean's brought Castiel up to speed on the things he needs to know- what Seals are and, more importantly, what's at stake if they're lost. Castiel had asked about Lilith, and it's not like Dean  _lied_.

"Lilith's what put me six feet under," was all Dean would say on the matter- just like when Castiel asked where Dean went after he died, Dean replied with "some place that isn't here."

Dean's told Cas everything he  _needs_ to know. The rest, that's just detail.

Ever since Samhain, Sam's been carefully handing Castiel a little more on each case. After they finally take out an absolute bitch of possessed mechanic, who fought tooth and nail-gun to the very last breath, Sam gives Castiel a pistol to have as his own.

"Keep it close," Sam advises. "You can sleep with it under your pillow, but you'll have to be careful."

Castiel turns the gun over in his hands like it's worth millions, tracing a finger down the barrel. "I will," he says solemnly. And he does, every single night, after Dean's given him a lesson on how to arrange things so he doesn't accidentally blow his ear off by rolling over at 2AM.

They take out a shtriga. They take out a shifter. Sam finally sits down and explains the breaking of the Seals, and Castiel listens like it's the first time he's heard it. Dean can't help but think that whilst Castiel learns nothing new about Lilith, he learns something about Sam- it looks like Sam has, against all odds, decided to trust Castiel. There's a quiet kind of happiness radiating from Castiel for the rest of the day, and once or twice Dean even catches him smiling.

Ruby tracks down a demon and whilst they get nothing from it (and it still gives Dean the heeby-jeebies), Sam's exorcism is quicker than ever. Ruby's hardly overjoyed at Castiel's enduring presence, but she's stopped suggesting Sam leave him on the side of the road with five dollars and a sign saying 'anywhere'.

Ruby. She's, uh, something else.

"Tell me about Ruby," Dean says to Sam one night, after a pretty unexceptional kitsune hunt. They're sat on a beach- which strikes Dean as weird, because he's not sure Sam's ever been to the seaside. Thinking about it later, Dean realises he probably went with friends whilst at Stanford, which feels a little like being punched in the gut.

"She's not really big on the whole 'caring and sharing' thing," Sam points out.

"I'm not asking about her _,_ I'm asking about  _you_  and her. How come she's with you all the time? How come you trust her so much?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"One, she's a demon," Dean says, counting them out on his fingers. "Two, she's a demon. Three-"

"Very funny," Sam says dryly.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Ruby could have killed me a hundred times by now," Sam says. "She was  _supposed_ to."

"Wait, what?"

Sam looks at him strangely- but this is supposed to be a dream, so Dean's allowed some artistic license with how much of Sam's knowledge he shares, right? Hell, if people only ever dreamt of themselves, most of Dean's dreams would be boring or narcissistic, and a good deal would border on masturbatory.

"Humour me," Dean says. Sam sighs in that long-suffering way of his, and begins.

"Lilith offered her a deal," he says. "Said she could buy her way out of Hell with my dead body. And Ruby said yes, and Ruby screwed Lilith over. Not only did she  _not_ kill me, she saved my life- more than once. She's on my side, Dean."

"Bull," he says flatly.

"Why else would she keep on helping me?" Sam says. "Keep on saving me? Dean, after you died, I was-" The words catch in his throat and he turns away.

"I was kind of a wreck, man," he laughs. Neither of them find it funny.

"And that's how you tried to fix it?" Dean asks, his voice hollow. "Hooking up with a demon?"

"I never meant to-"

"Oh, I'm sure. Let me guess- you were lonely, you were drunk, she was  _there…_ "

"It's not like that!" Sam shouts. "She's not a friend, and she's sure as hell not a girlfriend."

"But she's something," Dean points out.

"She's something," Sam agrees, sagging a little. "Dean, I know she might not count as a good guy- but hell, do I even count as a good guy anymore?"

"Don't talk like that."

"Why not? It's true. Face it, between the double-agent demon, the mental patient who shoots whatever we tell him to and whatever the hell _I_  am, we're not exactly righteous. Me and you, we used to balance each other out, but us three? It's like we're all playing the bad cop these days."

"Okay, listen to me," Dean says. "I've said my part on Ruby, that's done. But  _you_? You couldn't be bad if you tried."

"You don't know that."

"Trust me, I do. And Cas, he's… a good guy."

"I know," Sam admits.

"You should keep him around," Dean finds himself saying- and, even more unexpectedly, he finds that he means it, and not just because he thinks Castiel could be of use. Dean doesn't know what it is, but lately he's looking at Castiel as less of a bystander and more of a… co-worker. They're talking more often, too- Dean's found that, when you make the effort, Cas makes for pretty good company.

"I know. I want to, but Ruby doesn't th-"

"To hell with Ruby," Dean interrupts. "Literally."

"You shouldn't say that," Sam says, but he's grinning all the same. Dean grins back. He looks out to the sea and is reminded of Anna's perfectly sculpted beach.

Dean wonders if Sam's Heaven would have a place for him.

"You know, if you're worried, why not contact Bobby?" Dean brings up. "There's no way he'd ever let you go dark side."

"Bobby?" Sam pulls a face. "I don't know, it's been a while."

"All the more reason to call," Dean says.

"Not yet," Sam says. "Maybe someday, but… not now."

"Then when?"

"When I'm done," Sam answers. "When Lilith's gone and it's over and I'm  _done_."

Dean doesn't know what to answer to that. Nothing he thinks of is good enough, and so he gives up and pulls out of the dream. Sam can have a few hours of normality, of beaches without his brother's corpse trailing fingers through the sand.

Ruby's off in lands unknown, so Sam and Cas are back to sharing a twin room, which is all kinds of reassuring. When Dean snaps back into his body, he finds Castiel sitting cross-legged on his own bed, already dressed. Sam had made it clear pretty quickly that the tie and shirt weren't going to cut it, and Cas has been steadily amassing a collection of t-shirts, jumpers and jeans, all salvaged from bargain bins and thrift stores. He's kept the coat.

Dean checks the time- it's a little before 5AM. He stands up and experimentally tries materialising. With Sam dead to the world, it works.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, nearly giving Castiel heart failure. Once he's recovered from the shock, Castiel glances at Sam.

"Can he hear you?" Cas asks.

"Me, no, but you? Keep the volume down."

"In answer to your question, no," Castiel says, lowering his voice accordingly. "Nightmares."

"Sucks," Dean offers, crossing the room to sit on the chair by Castiel's bed. Cas swings his legs off the bed so he's facing Dean.

"How long have you been here for?" Castiel asks.

"You mean in the room?" Castiel nods; Dean hesitates. "It's complicated."

Castiel fixes him with a heavy look of ' _I thought we discussed this'_.

"It's not about Seals, I swear." After a fleeting internal debate, Dean figures he's got nothing to hide. "Ever heard of dreamwalking?"

"Dreamwalking?" Castiel says. "I think…. something in a book. There was talk of a certain root, one which allowed anyone who consumed it to access and invade the dreams of others."

"Oh God,  _that,_ " Dean says, stomach heaving at the memory. "You're on the right track, but guardians can do it without the root. All angels can."

"You were in Sam's dreams?" Castiel asks, mildly surprised.

"Bingo."

"But he doesn't know you're back?"

"He thinks I'm just another pretty little figment of his imagination," Dean confirms with a tight smile.

"Have you ever seen my dreams?" Castiel asks.

"Haven't tried," Dean shrugs. After all, he can talk to Castiel in the daytime- and frankly, telepathic communication is enough weirdness for one relationship. Luckily, Castiel doesn't seem offended or surprised. He goes to lean against the headboard and recoils, hissing.

"You okay?"

"My arm was wounded," Cas dismisses. "It's nothing."

Dean makes a decision. "Roll your sleeve up," he says, getting to his feet.

"Why?" Castiel asks.

"Just do it."

Castiel winces as he works the material over the deep cut in his flesh, courtesy of one pissed off kitsune. Dean had  _felt_ it but by the time he'd teleported, Cas had already plunged a knife through the thing's heart. Castiel is, Dean's starting to realise, actually pretty good at protecting himself.

Dean's not entirely sure what he's doing, but everything else has worked out so far. He carefully places his hand over the cut and concentrates on the idea of it healing. When he lifts his hand away, the skin is unblemished. Cas stares in astonishment as Dean grins.

"Awesome _,_ " he says approvingly. "Better keep that covered, though. Don't want Sam asking awkward questions."

"Of course," Castiel replies, still turning his arm from side to side like he can't quite believe it. "Thank you."

"No problem," Dean shrugs. "It's way past time I tried that out."

"It's incredible," Cas says, running a finger over the unbroken skin. He smiles at Dean then, small and soft but most definitely there. It's a rare sight, and it feels good to be the person who caused it.

"Angel powers, baby," Dean brags. "Boom. You know, this is probably the longest I've ever gone without getting hurt? Turns out it's pretty hard to dent an angel. When you get to the top players, I don't think there's anything that can even  _hold_  one."

"Holy fire can," Castiel says automatically, like he's correcting a grammar error. Dean stares. Castiel, apparently only just realising what he said, looks up suddenly.

"Holy fire?" Dean asks.

"Holy fire," Castiel repeats, but uncertainly. "I think. I've been reading a lot of angel lore recently."

"Fair enough," Dean says, ashamed to discover that Cas knew something he didn't. His wings twitch behind him, ever-happy to make things worse. Dean leans against the wall and imagines, with some spite, that he's crushing them.

"So holy fire, huh?" Dean says. "You think it'd hold a demon?"

"Perhaps, but why try? Devil's traps are very effective."

"Yeah, but fire just sounds more appealing," Dean says. He glances over at Sam again, but he's still dead to the world. "Hey, what do you think of Ruby?" he asks, turning back to Castiel.

"In what respect?"

"Do you think Sam's right to trust her?"

Castiel hesitates there. "It's not my place to question Sam's decisions."

"Cas, if you're going to keep hunting with these guys, you can't keep quiet about crap you don't like," Dean says firmly. "Hell, even if it's me you're disagreeing with, you gotta let me know."

"In that case, I don't trust her," Castiel says. "And not just because you said not to. There's… something about her. I can't put a word to it."

Dean nods grimly; this changes things. If Castiel doesn't trust her either, then maybe it's not just Dean being stubborn and archaic regarding their 'no making friends with monsters' rule. "Okay."

"What do you think?" Cas asks.

"I don't know," Dean answers honestly. "I'm with you on this, but… if she was going to hurt Sam, why hasn't she already? Why is she helping us? It doesn't make any sense."

"He and Ruby are… close," Castiel says, picking his words carefully. Dean sniggers.

"That's the PG-13 explanation, yeah. But even without all the…  _that_ , I wish he wasn't so damn reliant on her. You notice he never talks to people now? Before, we talked to people- stopped off in places, picked up girls… now, he doesn't. It's not good for him to shut himself off like that."

Castiel's mouth twists. "With all due respect-"

"Yeah, I'm really not due any."

"Fine. But Dean, you do the exact same thing. I know that Sam is your brother, but think about what you just said. Your dedication to him is impressive, but it can't be healthy. I don't know much about Heaven, but aren't there other angels? People you could talk to? Giving so much to somebody who can't hear you, it must… get lonely." Cas seems suddenly uncomfortable.

Dean's not sure how valid Castiel's point is- he still can't imagine an existence based around something other than Sam - but he can't deny that always being the ghost in the room is getting to him. And well, practice what you preach and all that.

"You tired?" he asks Castiel.

"Not particularly," Cas replies, confused.

"Wait here," Dean says. He walks over to the room's mini-fridge, pulls out two beers, and shuts the door as quietly as he can. He holds a bottle out to Cas, who accepts it uncertainly.

"The other angels are dicks," Dean says, by way of explanation. He roots around until he finds a bottle opener and then tosses it towards Castiel, who catches it on instinct. Dean slides down the wall to sit on the floor and Cas looks back at him, the corner of his lip twitching up, before carefully moving down to sit on the carpet by the bed.

"Isn't it a little early for alcohol?" Cas questions, though he's already opening the bottle.

"Okay, dude, lesson one," Dean says, cracking open his own beer with his ring. "It is  _never_ too early for alcohol."


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three songs from the playlist are now available for download [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2).  
> Thank you for reading!

 

_Sigh no more, no more_  
_One foot in sea, one on shore._  
_My heart was never pure_  
_You know me._

_\- Sigh No More, Mumford and Sons_

* * *

Out of all the phrases in the word, Dean hates 'time heals' more than any other. Thirty-something years later (time in Hell discounted), he still carries the pain of his mother's death in his heart, a heavy weight that scrapes like gravel. Dean's grief for his father is even stronger, and just because Sam's wounds healed over doesn't mean the ones left by his death ever will. Time's never done a damn thing for Dean.

Until now.

It still hurts to live behind a glass wall, to be able to hear and see Sam but not to say a thing. It hurts the most when Cas and Ruby are somewhere else and Sam thinks he's alone, when he finally gives in and lets himself collapse. Dean only sees Sam cry once, but that's more than enough.

Dean's just grateful that, despite the many reasons they gave him not to, Cas stuck around. Nowadays, when Ruby orders Sam to do something, he glances over at Castiel to get his opinion on it first. Dean still doesn't know where he stands on Ruby, but Sam putting less trust in her can only be a good thing.

As for Dean, talking to Cas more often is making him feel a little closer to the human race- more 'real', somehow. He's taken it upon himself to bring Cas into the 'real world', using a programme centred around awful TV and  _excellent_ music. It's not so bad. Dean would rather be human, sure, but it's better than Hell and it's more than he deserves. He can suck it up and deal.

A couple of weeks later, including a Thanksgiving that nobody bothers mentioning and eleven hours spent making Cas watch every Lord Of The Rings movie in a row (Dean refuses to entertain the idea of any edition that isn't extended), Anna shows up again. It's been a while since Dean reported anything back to Heaven, but that's because there's honestly been nothing worth reporting.

"Dean," she greets him. "How are you?"

"Not bad," he says truthfully.

"Good," Anna says, pleased. Dean guesses that there's a touch of that personal-boundary-ignoring, mind-reading crap going on here, but as it's Anna, he lets it slide.

"Something up?" he asks.

"No, not really. I just wanted to see how things were on Earth."

"Kinda messy. Sorta crap. The occasional marshmallow in ten tons of cardboard-tasting cereal." Dean shrugs. "It's Earth."

"Which means it's preferable to Heaven," Anna says, more viciously than Dean's used to. It must show on his face, because she sighs. "I'm sorry. Things are difficult right now."

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Lilith," she says brusquely. "Ten Seals so far. We've got our best angels protecting them, but we can only do so much, and she works so fast."

"We'll stop her," is all Dean can think to say. "Me and Sam, we've gone up against hundreds of her kind before, and we've stopped every single one of those sons of bitches. And we're only two kids from Kansas- you guys are  _angels."_

"Yes, we are. Which means we lie to each other, and we distrust each other, and we're not allowed to even acknowledge it," she says bitterly. "Nobody ever asks an angel what they think, because angels aren't expected to think. Humans don't know how lucky they are."

"What do you mean?" Dean says warily. His personal experience of being human hasn't really been all that enviable.

"Angels were made to be warriors. You were made to be you."

"Most of us end up warriors anyway."

"That's different. You fight for what's yours, or for justice, or for love. We fight because we're told to." Anna lets her gaze drift over to where Castiel is fast asleep. "You know, sometimes I think I prefer humans to angels."

"In terms of knowing one or being one?"

"Either. Both." Castiel mumbles something in his sleep and rolls over.

"Don't tell anyone I said that," Anna says suddenly, anxiety in her voice. "Any of it. I shouldn't even be here, I-"

"Anna, calm down," Dean says. "I'm not gonna tell. All we're doing is talking, right? Not even Zachariah can get bitchy about that."

"You'd be surprised," she mutters, but gives him a small, thankful smile.

"Hey, ever hear of something called of holy fire?" Dean asks, figuring it's a good time for a change of subject.

"Holy fire?" she repeats, frowning. "Yes, it's one of the only things that can hold an angel. Why?"

"Read it somewhere," he says nonchalantly, working on keeping his thoughts smooth and shallow. "Would it work on me?"

"No. Nor would angel banishing sigils. They work on something deeper than grace."

"Sweet," he says appreciatively. Castiel mumbles something again, and Dean glances over at him.

"Have you tried dreamwalking with him yet?" Anna asks.

"No," Dean says. "You think I should?"

"Yes," she says immediately, but she doesn't elaborate. Deciding that he's got nothing better to do, Dean settles on the ground and shuts his eyes.

Dean doesn't know what he expects, but it's certainly not what he finds. Castiel's dreamscape reminds Dean of Uriel's Heaven, turned up to ten and spun around in circles. Everything is blinding and dizzying; Dean's vision dips and swirls so that he can't focus on anything for more than the most fleeting of moments. A noise so high pitched and loud that it steals his air away rings through his head, and he thinks that this is the closest to pain a person can feel in a dream. Dean breaks off as soon as he's able to, with a sensation that's less like stepping down and more like plummeting.

"What the hell was that?" Dean gasps as he returns to his body with a hard jolt, the necklace Anna gave him banging against his chest. His wings are trembling.

"What happened?" Anna asks, crouching in front of him.

"There was… light. I think. Light and noise. It  _hurt_ , Anna."

Anna doesn't seem surprised. "Sounds like a nightmare," she tells him.

"Who the fuck has nightmares like  _that_? I'm telling you, if you'd have heard it-"

"It's not much fun, I know, but it's honestly not a big deal. Try not to worry. He's not- I have to go," she says suddenly, standing up. "A Seal is in danger."

"Maybe say 'goodbye' the next time the enterprise beams you up!" he shouts at the empty space Anna leaves. Still muttering, he glances back at Castiel.

Dean's no stranger to nightmares, but he's never experienced anything like  _that_. As awkward and out-of-touch as Castiel is, he never really gives the impression of being unable to cope, and sometimes Dean finds himself forgetting just where his ward's been for the last sixteen years. Dreaming like  _that_  must be a side-effect of all the other pieces of crazy that got Cas locked away, whatever they were- Dean doesn't pry. He figures that Cas will tell him when he's ready; until then, there's no reason to make the guy trawl through bad memories.

Dean debates waking Castiel up, but he doesn't know what he'd say. ' _I took a trip into your head and shit seemed pretty intense_ ' doesn't really cut it; it feels like telling someone you read something worrying in their diary. Castiel's not even stirring, and Dean's not getting blasted with panic or fear, so Cas can't be  _that_ distressed.

Still. Shit's weird.

Dean returns to the chair he was sitting in when Anna arrived, preparing himself for a few more thrilling hours of Fuck All. He has  _way_ too much free time now. Maybe he should teach himself ancient Greek or Latin or something- at least it'd make research go faster.

* * *

When morning comes, Sam wakes up first and launches into a routine of push-ups and sit-ups. It's something he's only started in the last week or so- now that Castiel's around more and Ruby around less, Sam's back to relying on hand-to-hand and running rather than staring at someone till they puke up their demon.

 _ **Morning,**_ Dean says when Castiel gets up a short while later.

 _ **Good morning,**_ Cas replies.  _ **Do you want breakfast?**_

_**What is there?** _

_**Muesli bars. I'm going to persuade Sam to go to a diner instead.** _

_**Man after my own heart.** _

"Hey," Sam says, wandering in from the bathroom with wet hair and clean clothes. "You hungry?"

"Yes. We should go to a diner."

"I've got-"

"A diner," Castiel repeats, with an edge of desperation. Sam gives in.

"Sure thing," he says, pulling his jacket on. They pile into the Impala, Dean sprawling in the back.

 _ **There's nothing in this town worth hunting,**_ Cas complains.  _ **I don't know why we're still here.**_

_**Hasn't Sam got some demon lead?** _

_**He says so, but there's been no sign of demonic activity. I don't know why Ruby was so insistent we remained in this area.** _

_**Maybe wherever she's gone, she doesn't want us following,**_ Dean says darkly. It's been five days since they last saw Ruby, and they've heard nothing from her since.

"You sleep well?" Sam asks as they drive.

"Well enough," Cas replies. "You?

"Okay," Sam says. "That motel had crappy beds."

"Don't they all?"

"I don't know, the one before this wasn't too bad."

"Wasn't that the one with a dead rat in the shower?"

"Yeah, but the beds were okay."

Dean waits for their conversation to reach a natural pause.

 _ **So I checked out your dream last night,**_ he admits to Cas.  _ **Sorry for not asking or whatever.**_

 _ **It's alright,**_ Castiel said.  _ **I doubt what you saw made any sense.**_

_**Diddly-squat. Man, what are your dreams even** _ **about** _**?** _

_**They're… unpleasant.**_ Castiel doesn't add anything more. At the diner, he orders two breakfast burgers, and Sam's face screams ' _really?'_

"I'm hungry," Cas says stiltedly.

"Dude, you are so much like Dean sometimes," he says, and everybody ignores the slice of awkwardness that pushes into place. Castiel quietly wraps the second burger in a napkin and pushes it into one of the numerous pockets of his trench coat.

 _ **Thanks, man,**_ Dean says.

 _ **It's no problem.**_ They've got this 'sneaking the angel food' thing down to a fine art.

Ruby appears a few hours later and declares that she made a mistake; there's no demon activity in the town after all. Dean thinks it's weird that it took her so long to figure that out, but Sam's too eager to move on to bother arguing, and Castiel goes along with it. Ruby tells them she's found one of Lilith's henchmen in a town in Washington, and soon they're back on the road.

This one seems more likely- they visit a school that reeks of sulphur and has three suspicious deaths under its belt. They're in town for a couple of days, during which Sam and Ruby share a room, which still makes Dean shudder. It has its benefits, though- it means Cas is alone, so Dean gets to spend four or five hours each evening actually  _existing_. Incorporeality can start to get to a guy.

Cas asks a lot of questions about Dean's life- about his childhood, about hunting, about Sam. He gives any questions regarding Dean's  _afterlife_  a wide berth, and in return Dean doesn't ask what it was that got Cas modelling this season's straightjacket.

There's no denying that Cas is pretty odd, but the more Dean talks to him, the more he thinks he understands him. It's just a case of tuning himself in to Cas' way of speaking, to his way of being. It's different, sure, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

They find the demon responsible for the school killings, but there's nothing to relate it to Lilith. The night after they gank the thing, Dean turns up in Sam and Ruby's room to find Ruby gone. It seems as good a time as any to dreamwalk, so he spends some quality time with his little brother. In Sam's dream, they watch fireworks explode in an abandoned field. It's a good dream.

* * *

Sam wakes up at about seven and drags himself off to shower. Dean flickers back into Castiel's room, where the lights are still off. He touches down and heads over to the window.

"C'mon, rise and shine," Dean says, pulling the blind up. Sunlight floods the room, and behind him, his wings spread out to welcome it in. His lip quirks upwards- he swears, the damn things are like solar panels. Dean turns around, opening his mouth to say something or other, but the words die in his throat.

The bed is empty. It's slept in, and Cas always makes his bed but here the sheets are a mess, the dangling over the side like someone left in a hurry.

"Cas?" Dean calls, his voice hollow. There's no answering call. He switches to their private link.

 _ **Cas?**_ He waits.  _ **Cas, c'mon, just let me know you're there.**_ Nothing. The usual pull at the back of his head is faint- so much so that when Dean tries to tune into it, it slips out of his reach.

Dean bangs on the bathroom door, peers down the hallway, checks every inch of Sam's room, but Cas is nowhere to be found. His trench coat is hung up in his closet, and for some reason the sight of it strikes Dean deep in his gut, a raw kind of pain. Why would he go somewhere and not take the coat?

Dean closes the door and then closes his eyes. Enough of this human bullshit.

He envisions Castiel- without the coat, though he doubts it makes a difference- holds onto his image, and lets the sense of the building flood into his head. Nothing. Cas definitely isn't anywhere in the motel. Dean reaches out further and searches- a one mile radius, five, ten. Nothing. The air is cold and feels dead, empty with no signs of life.

Dean tries harder. He sends tendrils sprawling through the air, ties them to the cabs outside and runs them down telephone wires, expanding his search to fifteen miles, twenty, thirty. Cas isn't there. Panic and anger start to bubble in Dean's stomach, but he forces himself to stay calm. He sits cross-legged in the centre of the floor and holds the coat loosely in his arms as a reference point. He takes a deep breath and feels his wings breathe with him, and then he searches  _properly._

Ever since Dean was given Castiel, his ward's presence has been tangible, a tug on a mental rope that never falls slack. Distance has never mattered- whether Cas was miles or metres away, the sensation of his presence never lessened.

Dean can't feel it now.

Would he know if Cas was dead? The sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that  _this_ is what it would feel like: this dangling string, this nothing where before there was most definitely something. He feels bizarrely alone- lost, even.  _What's a guardian angel without anything to guard?_

"Maybe my mojo's malfunctioning," Dean mutters to himself. He's never tried doing this kind of thing long-distance before, after all- maybe it takes more experience than he has. He can't think of a reason  _why_ Cas would be so far away, or why he's not answering, but there are angels and demons out there and 'why' is really the least of his worries.

Dean teleports to the city centre, and then from state to state- Kansas, Texas, New York City. He goes further. Toronto, Alaska, Venice. Nothing. London, Budapest, moving on to Crete, Rome, Nairobi, Canberra. He goes to places he's never been before in his life- places filled with new food, new women, new experiences to be had. He touches down in vibrant, exciting worlds, and they seem dead to him. Grey, meaningless, and they're nothing more than another background in a search for the familiar burst of light.

He's actually in the  _North Pole_ of all damn places when he suddenly feels something explode into the corner of his mind. It's like something falling into place, something solid and familiar and completely unmistakable. He's back at the motel in the blink of an eye.

"Cas?"

"Dean?" a familiar voice replies unsurely, somewhere behind him. Dean spins around. Castiel's clothes are dishevelled and he's covered in bruises, dried blood clinging to his shirt, his face. Dean grabs him by the arms, his hands tight against Castiel's biceps.

"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean barks, inches away from his face. "Where the hell were you?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says, and he sounds it. Dean realises he's been shaking Cas slightly as he speaks, and loosens his grip guiltily. The fear and the anger it masqueraded as are fading, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief.

"It's fine," Dean says. "I just…" His eyes meet Cas' and he holds the intense stare. Dean moves his hands to smooth Cas' clothes lightly, unwilling to let go of him in case he ups and vanishes again. "You left your coat," he says without really knowing why.

"I know. It was very sudden. I wanted to let you know where I was going, but he didn't give me the chance."

"Who didn't?" Dean says, anger rocketing back as he sweeps his eyes over Cas' injuries again. "Who took you? Tell me, and I swear I'll rip his goddamn-"

"What is it this time, lungs or heart?" somebody says in a bored voice. "You should mix it up, try something more creative. I have an odd fondness for the spleen."

Dean damn near growls. "Zachariah. Why aren't I surprised?"

"Oh Dean, you flatterer, you. You can go," he says idly to Cas, who glances at Dean for confirmation. At least Zachariah's an angel, so Dean gets to keep his body rather than being shunted out of the physical plane. As far as silver linings go, it's not exactly a huge one.

"One second," Dean says warily. He puts his hands back on Cas' shoulders and turns him away from Zachariah. He gently touches his fingers to the cuts and marks across Cas' face and hands, watching the redness ripple away and the skin close over.

"Thank you," Cas says when Dean's done.

"Go find Sam," Dean tells him. Cas nods and Dean moves aside to let him past. He turns slowly back to Zachariah, who's been leaning against the door frame and observing Dean at work. Dean scowls. He doesn't know why he doesn't want Zachariah watching him and Cas, but he doesn't.

"You had no right," Dean begins, his voice low.

"Right?" Zachariah says, like it's the funniest thing he's heard all year. "You want to talk to me about your  _rights?_ Kid, it's not so much that my name's at the top of the list and yours is at the bottom as it is that yours isn't even  _on_  a list. You're disposable. You're a  _guardian._ "

"And you took my ward!" Dean shouts. "Castiel is  _my_ ward, and you had no goddamn right to take him without telling me."

"So you're getting fond of your little darling!" Zachariah says with scathing delight. "Took you long enough."

"I'm not  _fond_ ," Dean objects hotly. "I'm doing my duty- the duty you damn well assigned me."

Zachariah looks at him then, and Dean slams on every mental block he has.  _Stay out._  Zachariah grins.

"Very nice. I could get past it, of course, but I won't. Sometimes you can tell a lot more about a man from what he tries to hide."

"Bite me," Dean snaps. "I swear, if you take Cas without asking me again- if you even go  _near_ him-"

"You'll make more vague and frankly hysterical threats?" Zachariah says, picking at a hangnail on his thumb. "Calm down, Dean, it's bad for your blood pressure. I only took him for a few hours." He pauses. "Well, there it was more like a few days _,_ but you know how things are with time-travel."

"What?"

"I suppose you don't. How insensitive of me."

"Like, actual time travel?" Dean says, still not really buying it- though it  _does_ explain why Cas wasn't replying. It's pretty hard to talk to someone when they're not technically on the planet. "Where did you take him?"

"Not where,  _when_. Honestly, the clue's in the name."

Dean takes a very deep breath and tries again. "Okay,  _when_ did you take him?"

"1973."

That seems suspiciously specific. "Why 1973?"

"Why not? It was a good year. I got to spend two straight months watching people pass out at showings of 'The Exorcist'." Dean just keeps on glaring, and eventually Zachariah carries on.  _He loves the sound of his own voice too much not to._

"There were some things Castiel needed to know," Zachariah says. "Events he needed to understand. Things about Sam's… how to say it? His personal tastes."

"What?"

"His powers, idiot. Castiel needed to understand why Sam has to stop using them."

"Uh, because they're freakin'  _weird_?" Dean says, spreading his arms.

"A valid reason, I'm sure, but not the one I gave him."

"Then why?"

"I absolutely, under pain of torture and death, forbade him from telling you, so I imagine it'll take you around two minutes to get it out of him." Zachariah breaks off and looks up at the ceiling. "Oops, Seal alarm. Toodles."

There are two things, Dean's decided, that angels rely on way too much and are way too annoying, and those two things are searing light and disappearing for no reason.

 _ **Zach's gone,**_ Dean tells Castiel.

 _ **Good,**_ Cas replies bluntly.  _ **I disliked him.**_

_**Yeah, that's the standard reaction. Did Sam ask where you've been?** _

_**Yes. Apparently he's been very worried. I did as Zachariah advised and told him I'd gone for a walk- Sam wasn't happy, but he seemed to accept it. He thinks he's found a case.** _

_**What we got?** _

_**Uh… from what we can gather, some form of invisible shower spirit.** _

_**Awesome.** _

* * *

The shower spirit leads to a guy attacked by Bigfoot, which leads to into a  _friggin' eight-foot suicidal teddy bear,_ and personally, Dean's calling Trickster.

"Have you heard of something called a Trickster?" Castiel asks Sam after Dean's presented his theory.

"Oh,  _God,_ " Sam says, pulling a face. "I guess… but no, the attacks don't fit the MO. Tricksters go for the high and mighty. I mean, we don't know much about the Bigfoot guy, but the little girl? There's something weird going on here, but not  _Trickster_  weird."

Dean grudgingly accepts that Sam has a point.

"We could try Audrey again," Castiel says. They'd barely gotten two words out of the little girl- it turns out that Castiel's even worse at dealing with children than he is with adults, and Sam's still rusty with conversations that don't begin with 'tell me where Lilith is or else'.

"Maybe," Sam says, glancing out the window. "Hey, that seem weird to you?"

Three teenage boys are running at full pelt, looking back only to curse and run faster. The thing causing their apparent terror is a boy who wouldn't even reach Dean's waist.

"You could say that," Castiel says evenly. Sam stops the car and they get out.

"Hey, kid!" Sam shouts. The boy stops cackling and slows to a halt.

"You got a problem, mister?" he demands.

"Uh- no?" Sam tries.

"Why are they running from you?" Castiel asks.

"Want me to  _show_ you?" the boy asks aggressively. He looks around the street and approaches a small, dirty white car. He grabs hold, heaves, and tips the vehicle over.

 _ **Son of a bitch,**_ Dean murmurs to Cas.

The kid glares at Castiel as if daring him to comment. For his part, Dean hopes Castiel  _doesn't,_ because he really really doesn't want to have to smite an eight year old. Cas stays quiet.

"They're scared," the boy boasts. "Audrey Elmer told me the wishing well worked, and now they're gonna get what's coming to them."

"Where's the well?" Sam asks. The kid snorts.

"I don't have to tell  _you._ "

"You don't, but it'd be really helpful if you did."

"Shut up," the kid says. The novelty of shocking grown-ups is wearing off, and his targets are getting close to safety. Sam seems to weigh things up in his head, shrugs, and holds out a $5 bill.

"Where's the well?"

* * *

Six hours later, Castiel and Sam are sitting in a bar, both on their second 'we-saved-an-entire-town-and-we-deserve-alcohol' beers.

"A  _teddy bear,_ " Sam says for the fifth time in twenty minutes. "Seriously, Cas."

"I don't think it will make any more sense if you keep repeating it."

"I don't think it will make any more sense,  _ever._ "

It's good to see the two of them talking- really good, actually- but Dean feels like even more of a third wheel than usual. He still hasn't managed to discover what it was that Cas found out about Sam- he asked a few times, but Cas had only replied with 'later'- but whatever it is, it can't have been finds himself thinking of the way Sam looked at the well for a moment too long, the way he kept going to say something but then cutting himself off, and he thinks that he doesn't want to think anymore.

Dean decides that now would be a good time to check the news from upstairs. The possibility of the world ending is always a pretty good distraction. He heads out of the bar and sits on a stone wall by the entrance.

"So how's Heaven these days?" Dean says out loud. He waits.

"Trying our best," a voice replies from his left.

"Hello, Dean," adds one from his right.

"Huh. I get the two-for-one deal on angels," Dean says. He watches people walk down the frosty path, their eyes seeing an empty wall and their ears picking up nothing but the quiet whistle of the wind.

"Is everything okay?" Anna asks.

"Had a free minute, that's all. Thought I'd check when the world's planning on ending."

"Not just yet," Anna chuckles.

"Twenty-one Seals have been broken so far," Inias says, his voice more sober.

"Awesome," Dean says bitterly.

"We're trying our hardest to stop it," Inias reassures him.

"Our garrison prevented a Seal from being broken in Mexico earlier this morning," Anna shares.

"That's good."

"Two more were broken later that day."

"That's not so good."

"We didn't even know they were at risk," Inias says. "Lilith is like nothing we've seen before. Sometimes I…" Inias trails off.

"Go on," Anna urges, but Inias shakes his head.

"It's no matter," he says. Anna seems disappointed. "Lilith might be strong, but we're stronger."

"You've got God on your side," Dean points out. "Don't you win any kind of cosmic rock-paper-scissors by default?"

"It's not that straightforward," Anna says.

"What do you mean? Can't you just book an appointment and respectfully ask him to smite the bitch?"

"Only four angels have ever seen God," Inias explains. "We have not."

"You ever spoken to him?"

"No."

"Have you even heard his goddamn voice?"

"We don't have any more evidence for his existence than you do," Anna says.

"That's not true," Inias argues.

"Isn't it?" Anna counters. "What do we have, Inias?"

"I have faith," Inias says, sounding more confident now. "As do you."

"And that's enough?" Dean challenges. "Out of every angel in the sky,  _four_ of you have seen God, and you're seriously telling me that 'faith' can explain that away?"

"I can't give you any answer you're going to like, Dean," Inias says, which Dean thinks is one hell of a copout.

"Okay, so answer me this," Dean says. "You know something about Sam, something I don't. What is it?"

"We can't tell you," Inias says.

"We'd be disciplined if we even attempted to," Anna agrees sadly.

"Bull. Zach swore Cas to secrecy, but it didn't sound like he was gonna deliver on those threats."

"He won't," Anna confirms.

"So why are you so scared?"

"It's different for angels, Dean. Zachariah wouldn't think twice about placing either of us- both of us- into discipline if we broke even one of his rules."

"What, you can't handle being whacked over the knuckles with a celestial ruler?"

"No," Inias says bluntly. "I'm sorry, Dean, but we can't tell you what Castiel found out. If it's any consolation, Zachariah wouldn't have told Castiel if he really didn't want you to know."

"Nice and straightforward," Dean mutters.

"Nothing's ever straightforward," Anna laughs suddenly. "Do you ever think about Castiel, Dean? I mean, really think about him?"

"Anna," Inias says warningly.

"What do you mean?" Dean says, ignoring him.

"I mean, does he seem insane to you?"

Silence hangs between them.

"We should go," Inias says, his voice low.

"Things are more complex than they seem," Anna tells Dean, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. "Don't forget that."

"Anna, we need to  _go_ ," Inias says again, gripping her hand in his. Holding Anna's gaze, Dean nods slowly, and she vanishes. Even Inias seems shocked, looking down in confusion at his empty fingers.

" _Now_  do you appreciate how annoying it is when you guys do that?" Dean says.

Inias' mouth twitches. "Goodbye, Dean."

* * *

Dean sits on the wall and watches people pass until Sam and Cas emerge from the bar. Sam is swaying slightly.

"I  _can_ ," he's protesting.

"No, you can't," Cas says absolutely.

"I'm fine. I'm  _totally_  fine. Dean used to drive after  _double_ that."

Castiel pauses. "Then Dean really should have known better."

 _ **Aww, don't be like that,**_ Dean objects.

_**Your brother is insisting he's capable of driving.** _

_**Not in my car, he isn't,**_ Dean says immediately. He moves closer and looks Sam up and down.  _ **Okay, I see your point.**_

"Give me your phone," Cas says.

"No!"

"Sam," Cas says, his voice deepening to become vaguely menacing. Sam meekly hands his mobile over, and Cas dials.

 _ **Who are you calling?**_ Dean asks.

"Ruby?" Cas says when she answers, and Dean's eyes widen.

_**Cas, man, no. Don't do this to me.** _

"Can you drive the car?"

_**No, she cannot!** _

"Yes, I believe so," Cas says down the line. "Thank you."

Ruby appears in front of them a second later. Cas jumps slightly; Sam doesn't really appear to notice. "You know, you really need to learn to drive," Ruby says, eyeing Cas.

"Unless I can learn in the next two minutes, your point seems of little relevance."

"Careful, sunshine, or you two can sleep out here tonight," she warns. Her face softens when she looks at Sam. "Is he okay?"

"I'm good!" Sam says with a sloppy grin. "I'm actually great. You should have seen the case we worked, Ruby. There was a really big teddy bear. Like, really big. It talked and everything."

"Distressing though it may be, he's telling the truth," Cas says.

"Cas was  _great,_ " Sam says, throwing an arm around Cas' shoulders. "He found out all this stuff about the coin, and he talked to people like a real person, and he- and- I think I might throw up."

"Let me take that off your hands," Ruby says, reaching out, and Cas carefully unhooks Sam's arm from his shoulders. She eases Sam into the back of the car and he stretches out, leaving no room for Dean unless he wants to sit  _in_ somebody. He teleports back to the motel instead, and makes Cas reassure him every minute or so that Ruby hasn't crashed the car yet.

Ruby gets them all home in one piece, and Cas helps her manoeuvre the unconscious Sam from the car and into his bed.

"Thank you," Cas tells her once they've done. She grunts and disappears without another word..

"Ruby didn't cause the car any damage," Cas says, keeping his voice low.

Dean drops into visibility. "She still  _drove_ it," he complains. "She got her gross demon hands all over my baby." Castiel tilts his head. "My car," Dean elaborates.

"She's driven it before."

"I've eaten tofu before. Doesn't mean it should ever happen again."

"There was no way Sam could drive," Cas points out.

"It's been a while since I saw him that far gone," Dean admits. "Is he okay?"

"I think so," Cas says. He goes to say something else but pauses, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that the ice-cold guilt trickling into his gut is not his own.

"Cas?" he says, with the kind of tone he used to reserve for when Sam started sentences with 'promise me you won't get mad'.

"Sam and I… we talked about you," Cas says. Fear blooms in Dean, but Cas sees and shakes his head. "He's still unaware of your presence. I meant that Sam explained the circumstances of your death."

"Oh," Dean says. He's not really sure what to do with that. "What did he say?"

"You could always try and see, if you wanted," Cas offers.

"What, like mind reading? I don't know, man."

"It's up to you," Cas says, "but I have no objection to it."

Dean considers this, then looks at his ward and concentrates. Images drift up like before, but this time Cas makes no effort to snatch them away. It's a bizarre first-person view, and it takes some getting used to. Cas sits in front of him, quiet and still, as the memory plays out.

" _Hey, Cas?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _What would you have wished for?"_

" _Nothing," Cas replies. "Every wish inevitably produced a bad outcome."_

" _Yeah, but I mean…" Sam trails a finger around the top of his glass. "If the bad stuff wasn't there, or if it didn't matter…"_

" _But it was, and it did," Castiel frowns. "Why? Would you have wished for something?"_

" _No," Sam says, but too quickly and too forcefully. Castiel looks at him until he goes on. "Maybe," he admits._

" _What?"_

_Sam swallows more of his drink as Cas waits. "You know I told you about my brother?"_

" _Yes," Cas says, after a beat._

" _I'd have wished for him," Sam says softly. He set his glass back on the bar and stares into it. "I mean, how bad could the bad part be? They take me instead? I wouldn't mind that."_

" _You can't mean that," Castiel says._

" _Believe me,_   _I do. I never even told you how he died, did I?"_

Dean can guess where this is going. He's seen Sam in 'I-need-to-get-this-off-my-chest' mode half a hundred times, and he recognises the signs of the incoming tidal wave by now. He focuses back on the memory.

" _It was my fault," Sam says. "We were… there was a demon. An_ _d I'm talking big-name, big-deal bad guy here. He killed our mother when I was just a kid."_

_Castiel says nothing, only listens._

With no body language to judge it by, Dean can't be sure, but he'd swear there's something about the way Cas holds himself which is almost anxious- like he knows something he shouldn't, like he's afraid of being found out.

" _And Dean killed him," Sam says._

" _Good," Castiel says, with startling ferocity. Sam is temporarily distracted, meets Cas' eyes and offers a slight smile._

" _Yeah. Well, he did, but there was a price." Sam swallows hard. "This demon- Azazel- was doing something with certain people, building up an army of us. He picked us out as kids. He wanted to find a leader… we don't know what for, a demon army or something. He was pitting us in fights against each other to find the best, and I… didn't make the grade."_

Back in the motel room, Dean's breath catches in his throat. His wings wrap around his shoulders like they're trying to comfort him.

"You don't have to go on," Cas says immediately. "I can-"

"No, I'm good," Dean says. Castiel nods, and Dean picks up where he left off.

" _And Dean, he… I don't know what he was thinking. He made a deal."_

" _He made a deal with a demon?" Castiel says._

It kind of hurts to hear the disbelief in Castiel's voice, like he can't imagine Dean stooping so low.

" _My life for his," Sam says bitterly. "He got one year. One measly year, Cas. And you know what we did with it? We hunted. He spent his final year on Earth running and fighting and being scared. And I promised him, I swore that I wouldn't let him die. I told him I'd find a way to stop it. And I didn't."_

 _Sam has to take a moment to compose himself before he can go on. "Lilith took my brother. She killed him, and I had to watch as he was dragged down to Hell._ Hell,  _Cas. The only thing I want, the only thing that really matters, is getting Dean back- and let me tell you, I've tried everything. Nobody would deal, nobody would even listen. So yeah, if I thought there was a way that that well could get him back and take me instead, I'd do it. I wouldn't even have to think."_

_They sit in silence for a long, long while, until Sam mutters "So, yeah, now you know" and drains the final dregs of his drink._

" _For whatever it's worth," Castiel says, voice uncharacteristically gentle, "I'm sorry for what has happened to your family. Dean sounds… incredible. And whilst I wish that there was a way you could see your brother again,_ you _are still alive, Sam. I am grateful for that."_

" _It's my fault he's dead," Sam says thickly._

" _No, it isn't. Your life doesn't need to be traded for his. You don't owe him that."_

_Sam doesn't reply for a long time. "You're right about one thing," he says eventually, rubbing a hand across his face. "He was pretty freaking incredible. Dean pretty much raised me. He wasn't just a great hunter, he was a great person- and trust me, you don't always find those two things go together. He-"_

"Yeah, I think I've heard enough," Dean says, breaking off.

"The conversation moved on soon after that," Cas reassures him. Dean doesn't reply- he's busy bracing himself for a tirade on why selling his soul was eleven kinds of stupid. He's kind of thrown when it doesn't come.

"Go on, then," Dean prompts, like picking at a wound. "Yell at me or call me a jackass or whatever."

"Why would I?" Cas says. He sounds genuinely surprised. "I'm not you, Dean. I can't imagine what it must have been like to lose a brother."

"You don't think it was stupid?"

"It was very, very stupid, and the amount of disregard the Winchester family display for their own lives is alarming at best and incredibly depressing at worst- but I can't judge you."

"Thanks," Dean says hoarsely, before pulling himself together and conjuring a grin. "So go on, then. How do I live up to my brother's description?"

Cas sits back and looks him up and down. "You're taller," he says eventually. Dean bursts into laughter, but when it dies away he can't ignore the question for any longer. Cas said 'later'; this is later. Zachariah sent Cas back to 1973 for a reason, and Dean needs to know why.

"Cas, what did you find out about Sam?" he asks softly.

"As far as I understand, you know most of it already," Cas says. Either he's forgotten Zachariah's threats or he's ignoring them, and Dean doesn't really care which. "Sam was selected by Azazel to become some form of leader. I'm sorry, but I don't know what for. He… this will be unpleasant," Cas warns.

"Shoot."

"Azazel briefly possessed your father's body."

"You met my father?" Dean says in disbelief.

"And your mother," he says. Dean's mouth falls open slightly as he stares, hoping Cas is bullshitting, but he's not. Dean's chest feels hot and tight, and he wants to complain that it's not  _fair._ He'd give anything to see his mother or father again- how come Cas gets to when he doesn't? It's too surreal to fully take in, and Cas' words filter in through Dean's shock. "Azazel wounded your father fatally. The only way to save him was for Mary to make a deal."

"So her death was some demon collecting his goods?" Dean says in revulsion.

"It wasn't that kind of deal. Azazel asked to be allowed access to your brother's nursery on a day ten years from that date. He promised that no harm would come to Sam or her-"

"Then he lied!"

"- unless he were to be disturbed," he finishes. Dean's mouth goes dry.

"Oh."

"She agreed to the deal and John was saved. I tried to intervene and stop her, but Azazel was too strong." Cas sounds disgusted in himself, and Dean remembers the cuts and scrapes that had covered Cas' body on his return.  _Zachariah didn't even bother healing him._

"That was all I saw before Zachariah brought me back," Cas finishes.

"What did Azazel do to Sam?"

Castiel seems to struggle with how to phrase what comes next. Dean doesn't take that as a good sign.

"Azazel contaminated him," Cas says.

"With  _what_?"

"Demon blood. He allowed drops of his blood to fall into the mouth of each child he chose. That's why Sam has his… abilities."

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, turning away and running a hand through his hair. When Dean's father died, it was like someone had yanked the world out from underneath his feet. This feels more likely somebody peeling away the sky, leaving a whistling black void that Dean can't even begin to understand, a loss he can't comprehend because he'd never thought there was something there to miss. "Fucking  _hell_. What am I supposed to say to that, Cas? How am I supposed to react to that?"

"He's still your brother," Cas says.

"Is he?"

"He's had demon blood since he was six months old," Cas reminds him, another punch to the gut. "You've never known him any other way."

"Jesus," Dean says again. _I never realised._   _He's been half-demon since he was six months old, and I never even fucking noticed._ Something deep and dark is coagulating in Dean's veins, weighing him down- even his wings feel heavy, like they don't see a point in holding themselves up.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Cas says, turning to look at where Sam's splayed asleep on the bed. "I don't know how much he knows about the true circumstances of your mother's death, but-"

"Not now," Dean says.

"Is Zachariah going to want to talk to you?"

"I don't care. I am  _not_  dealing with any angels right now."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Dean admits. He wants to knock Sam out, to hug him close, to scream at Anna or Zachariah or God himself until the world starts making sense. But in whatever sick game Heaven and Hell are playing, Dean's no better than a moth, a flea with wings glued on, and what he  _wants_  doesn't mean a damn thing anymore.

"I don't think I can do anything," Dean says, the truth of it bitter in his mouth.

"Then don't," Castiel says simply. "Stay." And Dean, for lack of a better idea- or really, any other idea at all- does exactly that. He sits by the window and he stares out at the sky until it fades from black to cobalt to blue.

* * *

Even now, Dean turns to hunting to avoid the things he doesn't want to think about.

The case is in Iowa, where a handful of guys have decided that now would be an excellent time to reduce their loving wives to piles of meat- in one case, quite literally. That's seriously  _not_ how a meat tenderiser is supposed to be used.

"Her name was Jasmine," the killer they're interviewing breathes, like that's supposed to explain everything.

"She was a dancer?" Sam questions. Dean's having trouble looking straight at him.

It turns out that 'Jasmine' was a stripper, and whilst all three men fell in love with women from a local 'adult' club, none of their descriptions match up. Sam and Cas hit up the path lab, where a pretty doctor (who damn-near throws herself at Sam, but he's too tied up in sadness and sulphur to notice) tells them that all three guys had crazy-high levels of some 'love hormone'. The next step is obvious.

"I guess we're going to a strip club," Sam says, with a little grin like he'd forgotten he was allowed to enjoy that kind of thing. For once, Dean's glad he can't be seen, because that means he can laugh as much as he wants at the sheer  _terror_ on Cas' face.

"Strippers not really your thing?" Sam asks as they drive. Cas mumbles something about 'dens of inequity', which makes Dean laugh even harder. This is going to be fucking  _precious_.

"What kind of creature are we looking for?" Cas asks, a transparent attempt at changing the subject. Sam takes pity.

"No idea," he says. "Something that can make people fall in love with them, apparently."

"I don't know if it has any real world significance, but in Greek mythology, a siren was said to be able to entice men," Cas says.

 _ **Like the Odyssey?**_ Dean asks.

"Like in the Odyssey," Cas adds on.

"I've never heard of one, but that sure doesn't mean they don't exist," Sam says. "If the club doesn't turn up anything, we should check that out."

 _ **Ask him if there's anyone he could call,**_ Dean urges Cas.  _ **Anyone who might know something about this crap.**_  Demons and ghosts are one thing, but a creature they've never hunted before? That's got 'Bobby' written all over it.

"Is there anybody you could contact?" Cas asks obediently. "Anyone who might know more about this… area?"

Sam hesitates. "Yeah, but- no."

"Yes or no?"

"No. I mean, there is, but- it's complicated. So what, are they separate women?" Sam asks, moving the conversation on. "Or is it all one creature?"

"A shapeshifter of some kind? It's possible. That would mean..."

"It could be anybody," Sam agrees.  _That narrows it down,_ Dean thinks bitterly. It gets even worse when they get to the club- it's a cramped, dingy place, and there aren't many patrons who  _aren't_ staring at the dancers like they're goddesses. Sam's halfway through a very awkward (and potentially dangerous) conversation with a guy who's twenty stone of solid muscle when Cas provides an escape route.

"Sam," he says, his voice tense and tight. Dean has his back to Cas, but he can still sense the anxiety coming off of him. The lack of any accompanying mental freakout assures Dean that his ward isn't in danger, which means it can only be one thing, and that thing is going to make Dean's goddamn  _month_.

Sure enough, when he turns around, there's a girl on either side of Cas- a curvaceous blonde in a Vegas style outfit, all feathers and glitter, alongside a slender woman with long dark hair and a tight white dress. They're both pressed flush against him; the blonde is leaning up to whisper in his ear, the other woman brushing her hand slowly along his arm.

And, weirdly enough, Dean's not laughing.

It actually pisses him off, to be honest. Cas is clearly uncomfortable, and they're  _enjoying_ it.

"You shouldn't be so shy," the raven haired woman teases, trailing her finger down Cas' chest. He visibly swallows. "We can show you how to… loosen up."

It must be some guardian angel thing, because Dean kind of wants to hit them. He wants to drag them away and tell them to leave his ward alone, that Cas isn't interested in being mauled by a skeezy Dita Von Teese wannabe.

Sam's face twitches with the effort of staying straight. "C'mon, Cas, we need to go."

Cas hastily untangles himself from the women- not a particularly easy task- and hurries out after Sam, who has given up on trying to hold back his laughter.

Now that they're out of the bar and Cas is safely away, Dean starts to smile- after all, it  _was_ kind of funny, right? The smile drops when he realises, suddenly, that this might not be a one-off occurrence. Sure, most women don't  _drape_ themselves over men like that pair had, but it seems a fair guess that this stupid, illogical, 'I-just-got-punched-really-hard-by-an-angry-spirit ' feeling is going to show up whenever his ward gets propositioned. And when his ward looks like  _Cas_ -

_Okay, wow, uncomfortable thought territory._

In the end, all it comes down to is that it's Dean's job to look out for Cas. He can sense the guy's emotions, read his thoughts, and when you have that ridiculous level of connectivity with a person, it's bound to have some whacked out side effects. It doesn't mean anything.

It's still annoying, though, just like research is still  _incredibly_ boring. It's a Saturday night, and they're sat in a motel room reading Greek mythology. Who even does that?

 _ **Who was the person Sam was so reluctant to contact?**_ Cas asks, midway through the ninth book of the evening.

 _ **His name's Bobby Singer,**_ Dean replies _ **. If anyone knows about this siren crap, it'll be him.**_

 _ **If we don't find something in the next five minutes, I'm phoning him myself,**_ Cas says threateningly, throwing the book aside in tired disgust. Luckily- or unluckily, from Dean's point of view- Sam finds the information before Cas gets exasperated enough to make the call.

 _"A bronze dagger, covered in the blood of a sailor, under the spell of the song_ ," Sam reads out loud. Morning's finally come, and Cas stifles a yawn as he listens.

"I don't understand why none of these supernatural beings can ever be killed with a handgun," he complains. Dean has to agree.

"Looks like we need blood," Sam says, closing the book, "and I think I know where to go."

* * *

The collective clusterfuck of their encounters with Hendrickson aside, Dean's found that most people, when faced with an FBI badge, will go 'yep, seems good!'. Really, when you take Sam's hair into account, it's amazing they don't get caught out more often.

"What's your name?" Sam asks the latest obstacle- who's still holding up his own FBI badge- as Dr Cara backs away to give them some space.

"Special Agent Shane Tewcinder. You?"

"I'm Special Agent Sam Johnson, this is my partner Cas Jones. What office are you from?"

 _ **Should we tell him the truth?**_ Cas asks as they watch Shane talk to Sam.

 _ **No,**_ Dean says.  **Really** _ **no.**_

_**He might be able to help.** _

_**This guy? Really?**_ Special Agent Shane Tewcinder looks like he thinks knives are just pointy mirrors.

"I should probably ask for your badge numbers, but life's short, and I'm starving," Shane's saying. "You guys aren't lying to me, right?"

"No," Cas replies immediately.

"Good. This case is plain nasty. You checked the bloodwork?"

"Yeah, dead end," Sam says.

"Crap. You know they all hooked up with chicks from the same club?"

"Really?" Sam says, feigning surprise.

"Yeah. There's gotta be something there, right?"

"Definitely could be. You should go check it out."

"Yeah, I will. Hey, why don't you come along?"

"Me?"

"Sure. I could do with another pair of eyes. You too, if you want," Shane throws at Cas.

"No," Cas says bluntly, because someone still needs to steal the blood and he doesn't like lying for lying's sake. Shane shrugs.

"Whatever. You coming?" he says to Sam.

"Uh, if Cas is okay with it, then sure," Sam says. Dean doesn't really want Sam going off alone with this guy, but if it gets them the blood, it'll do.

"It's fine," Cas says after a quick confirmation from Dean.

"Awesome," Shane says. "Hey, let's swing by a drivethrough first, get something to eat. I'll buy, but I'm only going to say this once: get anything on my seats and I will  _end_ you."

Dean acts as a guard as Cas smuggles out the blood samples in his coat pocket. Cas heads out in search of a bronze dagger and, after checking he's okay to go on alone, Dean goes to find Sam and the douchebag.

The guy drives some ancient Ford Galaxie, a fact that he's way too proud of- and despite his warning, he doesn't seem to care about the sauce that drips onto his shirt from his own burger.

"Aww, crap," Shane frowns, rubbing at the stain with a fingernail. He soon brightens again. "Nah, I can't stay down on a case like this."

"A vicious quadruple homicide?" Sam says wryly.

"Yeah, well there's  _that,_ " Shane dismisses with a shake of his hand. "And then there's the  _strippers_. I'm on an actual case with strippers.  _Finally_."

Sam snorts. "Looking on the bright side, huh?"

"You bet," the guy grins, taking another bite of his burger. He pauses suddenly, eyes widening. "Crap, I didn't mean to- man, I'm sorry."

"What?"

"When you called Cas your partner, I didn't, uh-"

"Oh, what? No! We're not… no."

"Then I'm sorry a second time around," Shane says. "Put on a tape before I say more stupid things."

"It's okay, really."

"No, it's not, because it's been more than twenty minutes since I listened to anything Zeppelin. Hey, can I have some of your drink?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." Sam passes his bottle of water over and Shane swigs from it.

"Thanks," he says, handing it back. "Two in the afternoon's probably a little early for the harder stuff."

"Just a little," Sam agrees, lip quirking into a smile.

Dean leaves Sam and the asshole behind. Cas has somehow managed to get hold of a bronze dagger- the handle's been reattached with duct tape, but it'll do- and he's back in the motel room. Dean goes to materialise, but then he thinks of something.

_**Cas?** _

_**Yes?** _

_**Just wanted to let you know I'm, uh, here.**_ Dean lets himself drop into reality and, this time, Cas doesn't jump. Dean considers that progress.

"I had to go to six different stores to find this," Cas tells him, holding up the blade. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't found one."

"eBay," Dean advises sagely. "And Craigslist. You can get some good stuff as long as you avoid the weirdos."

"Who's Craig?" Cas frowns, and Dean chuckles in disbelief.

"Man, talk about living under rocks," Dean says. "It's a website."

"I don't really use the internet," Cas defends.

"You don't watch TV, you don't go online… you must have had some interesting visitors in Brightwood, or you'd have gone nuts from the boredom alone."

"I only had one regular visitor- a friend of the family who came once a year or so."

"Must've gotten lonely," Dean comments.

"I was… isolated," Cas admits. "I didn't really interact with the other patients, and I very rarely left the home. I spent most of my time reading."

"You read for sixteen years?" Dean says in disbelief.

"What else was there to do?"

"I don't know!" Dean says helplessly. "Talk about your feelings?"

"I stopped having psychotherapy at eighteen years old," Cas says. _Wait, what?_ They're moving into the territory that they mutually, silently agreed to never discuss, but there's something seriously weird going on here. Leaving weird things be isn't in Dean's nature.

"If you didn't even have a shrink, why did they keep you there for so long?" Dean asks.

"I never knew. I used to ask about discharge, but all they would say was that it was important I remained where I was."

"You never tried walking out?"

"Once, when I was twenty." Cas grimaces at the memory. "They threatened to section me."

"What?" Dean says. "Why?"

"They wouldn't say."

That doesn't sound even the  _slightest_ bit legal. "So you just quit asking?"

"I was admitted at fourteen, Dean. I'm used to following orders.  _This-_ making my own choices, being trusted with things- this is what feels strange to me."

"But good strange, right?" Dean checks.

"Yes," Cas admits, and he offers Dean a rare smile. Dean grins back, and then the mobile phone Sam bought Cas rings.

"Hello?" Cas listens. "Yes, I have. Yes. I'll see you then."

"News?" Dean asks once he's hung up.

"Sam's coming back here. He asked if I'd gotten the dagger ready."

"You think he's found her?"

"He didn't say."

"I'll check." Dean turns up in the club, but they're not there. He focuses on the interior of the Ford Galaxie instead and finds himself sitting in the backseat. AC/DC blasts from the speakers as Shane drives, whistling, but Sam's nowhere to be seen. Dean switches his attention to the infinitely superior car and, third time lucky, Sam's sat behind the wheel. Good. Dean's still working on forgiving Sam for abandoning his baby in a random parking lot.

Dean returns to the motel.  _ **Back,**_ he tells Cas before he appears.

"Anything?" Cas asks.

"Not unless you want to count that assclown having an unexpectedly good taste in music."

"They haven't found the siren?"

"If they have, Sam-"

There's a knock at the front door. Dean flickers out of visibility and Cas answers it, keeping the door on the chain.

"Hey, Cas," Shane says with a lazy grin. Cas opens the door fully.

"Hello," Cas says politely.

"So the club gave us jack all," Shane launches straight in. Dean scowls.  _He never asked, douchebag._  "Looks like we're back to step one."

"Where's Sam?"

"Gone to rescue that beautiful creature of a car," he says. "Hey, mind if I come in?"

"If you want," Cas says, opening the door properly. Shane smiles again, showing perfect white teeth.

"Thanks," he says, walking in and looking around. "How come you guys are shacked up in a motel room?"

Cas doesn't know how to answer. Neither does Dean, actually.

"Well, you know," Cas says vaguely. "It's- do  _not_  touch that," he warns, voice low and with a hint of threat in it, as Shane goes to pick up a bag that Dean's guessing contains the blood samples. Shane backs away, hands up.

Cas is still glaring. "We got a problem?" Shane says brazenly.

"The  _problem_ is you touching things that aren't yours," Cas says, steel in his voice. He moves closer, as if to remove the bag by force, but Shane stays where he is, even when Cas is a mere breath away. His eyes only break Cas' stare to flicker up and down his body. Dean's wings bristle behind him.

"Why are you here?" Cas says, a growl at the back of his throat, still standing entirely too close to Shane to be considered normal. Dean doesn't get why Shane won't just frickin  _move._

"If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't take so long to get there," Shane says. "Fact is that there's one nasty son of a bitch causing trouble 'round here, and I don't want you being alone 'til he's found."

"I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure?" Shane challenges. "Look at yourself. You really think you're cut out for this kind of thing?" Shane's face softens and he moves back- but only a little bit, nowhere near enough. "You gotta be careful, Cas. I don't want you getting hurt."

Dean laughs out loud, in a 'can you believe this guy?' kind of way. It's adorable that Shane thinks Cas needs his protection- though it's also annoying, in a way that crawls under Dean's skin and scratches around.

What's even more annoying is that despite his tone, Cas doesn't actually seem pissed off, which he really should be because  _come on._  But no, it's less like anger and more like a prelude to friggin' angry sex.

Dean's laughter dies away. When he focuses on Cas, really focuses on him, the readings he gets are just plain strange. Cas' emotions swing between contentment and wariness, to the point where it reminds Dean of somebody falling asleep and continually jerking themselves awake, fighting off the comfortable pull.

A car pulls up outside, and Shane grins. The tension between him and Castiel breaks, and Shane turns towards the door as Sam walks in.

"Hey, Sammy," he says easily.

"Hey!" Sam replies, his whole face lighting up.

"Don't forget to say hi to Cas," Shane says meaningfully, and when Sam turns around his smile has gone.

 _ **Cas!**_ Dean says, alarmed, but Cas is way ahead of him. He's already got one hand behind him, curled around the bronze dagger.

"Hello, Sam," Cas says evenly.

"Castiel," Sam says darkly. Dean doesn't like the look in Sam's eyes, doesn't like the sneer that curls his lip. Out of everything Dean's seen- and fuck, there's been a lot- nothing scares him more than Sam not being Sam. Shane- and Dean could kick himself for not realising, for dismissing him as just another douche- leans against the wall, his smile stronger than ever as he watches them circle. It'd be fine if  _he_ tried to attack Cas, but it's not Shane that poses the danger here. It's not Shane that Dean might have to hurt.

 _ **Cas, the blood!**_ Dean urges. His wings are alive behind him, feathers twisting and straining like they're about to burst free. Cas' eyes find the bag, but Sam is blocking it. Cas' shoulders slump.

"I'm sorry for this," he says apologetically. Dean has no idea whether it's meant for him or Sam, but either way, Cas springs forwards.

"No!" Dean shouts- uselessly, out loud, but echoing the sentiment a thousand times over in his head. Sam brings his arms up, ready to deflect a fatal strike, but Cas turns instead to slice the blade across Sam's arm. Blood trickles over the metal's surface and Sam hisses in pain, grabbing his gun from his belt. Dean shoots a hand out without having to think about it and the gun flies across the room, smashing into pieces against the wall. Shane stares in disbelief, but Sam's barely even noticed. He's completely focused on Cas, who swings away from Sam and brings his arm down as hard and as fast as he can.

"No!" Sam cries out, but it's too late. The blade is embedded in Shane's chest, and he looks down at it like he can't quite believe it's there. Sam rushes forwards as Shane crumples to his knees, spluttering, and then slumps to the ground. Sam reaches his side and then comes to a complete stop. Dean holds his breath.

"Cas?" Sam says uncertainly, his voice shaking. Dean sags with relief, his wings doing the same behind him.

"Here," Cas says, returning from the motel room bathroom and pressing a towel into Sam's hands. "Hold that to the wound."

"You… he…"

"I'm aware. Sit down."

Sam does so, looking much younger than he is. "It… it was Shane?"

"Yes," Cas confirms. "We were mistaken in believing Sirens only take the form of romantic interests. It's more targeted than that: they change their form to  _whatever_  it is you need the most, be that a partner, a friend, or a family member. For you, I'm assuming that was a brother."

Cas doesn't lower his voice like most people would when bringing up a sensitive issue. He just states it like he's reading something from a textbook, and Dean's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

"He even  _looks_ like Dean," Sam says dully, staring at the body.

 _ **What? No he doesn't,**_ Dean objects.

 _ **There are… similarities,**_ Cas says evenly.

"When did you find all this out?" Sam asks, tearing his eyes away from the bleeding corpse.

"I made a phone call while you were out," Cas tells Sam. "I'm sorry for going behind your back, but if I had to read another Greek mythology book, there was a strong chance I would have had a psychotic break." He pauses. "Again."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'behind my back'?" Sam says. "Who'd you call?"

"Robert Singer," Cas says.

 _ **What?**_ Dean says at the exact same time as Sam.

"I found his contact information in one of your notebooks. He was very helpful," Cas pauses. "And mildly insulting."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like Bobby."

"He said you were to contact him," Cas says. Sam's face grows solemn, and he nods.

"Yeah. I'll do that."

 _ **Now, or he never will,**_ Dean warns. He knows his brother.

"Do it now," Cas urges. Sam swallows.

"Shouldn't we clear up the Siren first?"

"I can take care of it. You should phone Bobby."

"Okay. Okay, I will." Sam picks the phone up and dials, a number Dean knows they've both learned by heart. Sam brings his mobile to his ear and waits. "Bobby?" A pause. "Yeah, it's me."

Sam winces and holds the device away from his head. Dean can hear Bobby's shouting from the other side of the room. Sam makes a hand gesture that somehow equates to 'I'm gonna go' and, for lack of anywhere more private, shuts himself in the bathroom. Dean hears the lock turn and guesses that Sam's going to be a while.

 _ **Angel incoming,**_  Dean informs Cas, before materialising by his side.

"Nice work," Dean says, feeling vaguely queasy as he looks at the body. This isn't shapeshifter levels of weird, but it's pretty close.

"Thank you," Cas says quietly. "I'm sorry for not mentioning Bobby. I meant to, but I was worried you'd be angry I made the call without your consent."

"What? No, we're good," Dean says, and he means it. He doesn't care how Sam gets back in contact with Bobby, just that he does. "So when did you start suspecting sunshine here? Hey, Sun _shane_ ," Dean grins. Cas takes the time to shoot him a despairing look before he answers the question.

"The hospital," Cas says. Dean whistles.

"Seriously? How come?"

Cas looks at Dean, his eyes as wide and as blue and as honest as ever.

"You are… unique, Dean. I have never encountered anybody who affects me as you do. Shane did."

Dean stares back, trying to make sense of the words. "What do you mean, 'affects' you?"

Cas' reply is cut off when, through the door, they hear Sam shout.

"Oh, come on, I was  _twelve_!" A pause. "And I'm really sorry!"

Dean has to laugh. "He's not letting Sam off easy, is he?"

"If he's going to do this chronologically, how long do we have before he reaches present day?" Cas asks seriously.

"Enough time for Lilith to end the world ten times over. C'mon, let's get rid of a Siren."

* * *

Dean sticks around to help out with the clean-up, and together they get rid of the body and scrub the blood from the carpet. Sam's on the phone for nearly two hours; Dean doesn't listen in. He likes to think that it's because he trusts them- but in reality, with the familiar adrenaline of working a case fading, the things Dean was pushing away are flooding back. As Dean stares at the faded stains on the floor, he thinks again of red, hot blood: dripping onto a baby's lips, coating his hands in South Dakota, dribbling from Sam's nose as he holds out a hand.

Later that night, when Cas and Sam are fast asleep in the Impala, Dean looks at Sam briefly before deciding that he can't handle it. Not yet.

Cas' dream isn't very different from the last time Dean swung by. This time, Dean's expecting the chaos, but it's not the kind of thing you can really brace yourself for. He feels both hemmed in and lost in nothingness, like he's being crushed and pulled all at once, wanting to laugh hysterically and curl up and sob.

_please_

The word is born from the high pitched scream that ricochets throughout the dream world, slides into Dean's head before he's even realised it's there. He focuses, trying to pick something else out.

_late_

…  _pl…_

Dean struggles to concentrate, but it's difficult to keep his hold on anything.

_don't_

_br…_

_er plea_

_castiel_

_don't don't DON'T-_

The noise is too intense; Dean can't hold on anymore. He bursts awake with a desperate breath, eyes flickering wildly until he's sure that he's back in the real world. Still shaking, his chest heaving, Dean leans forward to look. Cas is curled up, solemn and still, like nothing's wrong in his world. Dean shakes his head in disbelief.

"Most people," he tells his sleeping ward, "have nightmares about ghosts."

* * *

Ruby turns up the next morning and hangs around just long enough to piss Dean off. He's not comfortable leaving her and Sam alone together in light of what Cas found out, but she leads Sam off by the hand and actually undoes her bra _as_  she walks and yeah, Dean's having no part in that.

Later that day, once she's disappeared off to 'continue searching', Bobby calls. Sam picks up the phone halfway through the first ring. There's nothing like verbal abuse from a cranky alcoholic to better your reaction time.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam says, and listens. "No, no, no, you're right, it's definitely weird. Okay, Bobby, thanks."

Cas looks up in interest.  _ **What's weird?**_ he asks Dean.

 _ **Bobby used to put us onto cases sometimes. Could be anything.**_ Especially considering that Sam told him about the Seals, which earned him an incredulous ' _you didn't care to mention you've been fighting off the goddamn_ apocalypse?' and a good thirty minute lecture.

"No, I know- Bobby, I  _know,_ " Sam says. "No. I won't. That's not even- fine. Yes. Yes, I- okay. Bye."

Sam hangs up. "So there's this town in Wyoming where nobody's died for a week and a half," he says with no preamble.

Castiel bites into a stick of jerky with little concern. "Is that really so unusual?" he asks as he chews.

"Yeah, when you look at  _how_  they're not dying. A guy with terminal cancer suddenly gets better, another gets shot- at point-blank range- and walks away. Seems kinda odd, don't you think?"

"It's worth investigating," Cas agrees, and ten minutes later, they're on the road.

 _ **Why are we even looking into this?**_ Dean complains to Cas as they drive.

_**What do you mean?** _

_**I mean that people not dying is an idea I can get behind. Why are we trying to stop something good?** _

_**In my short experience with this line of work, 'good things' rarely come without something venomous attached.** _

_**We are making you way too cynical way too fast.** _

He  _also_ thinks that they're making Cas way too damn blasé about things, because the idea of summoning a dead kid for interrogation might as well be a proposal to get Chinese instead of pizza for all the reaction it garners from Cas. It's his first grave desecration, though, so that's gotta count for something. It's mid-December, coming up on Christmas, and their breath is white in the cold night air. Castiel glances nervously around as Sam thumbs through the journal.

_**What if somebody sees?** _

_**Nah, nobody ever sees. See, Cas, people are simple things. They'd much rather write off any crap that doesn't make sense as 'freak weather' or 'kids screwing around' than actually-** _

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

 _ **You were saying?**_ Castiel says dryly, which Dean elects to ignore. The bright spot of a flashlight finds them, a dark shape moving behind it. Panic begins to pulse from Cas, strong enough for Dean to sense it without trying.

 _ **Hey, stay cool. Sam'll fix this.**_ "Sam, you'd better fix this," he warns out loud.

"What the hell is this?" the voice says in disgust as it moves closer. "Is this  _Devil worship_?"

"We're leaving," Sam says, and Dean really can't blame him for not trying to think of an excuse. The figure finally gets close enough for Dean to see its face.

The blood in Dean's heart turns to ice and the shards rip open his arteries, a deep and desperate kind of fear biting at the walls of his stomach. He draws back, seeking the cover of the shadows, and prays that it'll be enough.

"So soon?" the man says, and even though a demon's true face is grotesque beyond belief, Dean's learned to tell when they're smiling. "You haven't even told me what's going on here."

_**Cas, I need you to listen to me very closely, but don't do anything sudden. Don't do anything out of the ordinary. Okay?** _

_**Dean?** _

_**That guy is a demon, and not just any black-eyed son of a bitch. His name is Alastair, and he's every single kind of bad news. You need to get away,** _ **now.**

"- a dare. We're so sorry," Sam is saying, beseechingly.

"We won't be returning," Castiel adds firmly. Alastair looks at him with interest- too much interest- and despite Cas' calm demeanour, the panic radiating from him grows even stronger. Dean wishes he could tell Cas not to worry.

"A dare?" Alastair asks suspiciously.

"It was stupid, I know. I'm so sorry," Sam says again.

 _Let them go_ , Dean thinks desperately. Dean's guessing that Alastair's here to guard the grave, but he's got no real reason to think that Sam or Cas are anything but idiots playing around. Maybe if Death was in town, Alastair would take the time to put them in the ground, but as it is, all he can do is leave two walking corpses with a  _very_ interesting story to tell.  _Let them go, you bastard._

Dean might not believe in God, but he thanks every deity he can name when Alastair steps back and gives a curt nod.

"Go on, get out," Alastair says. "And if it's all the same to you, I'll be sticking around to clean up your mess- after all, somebody has to. Don't let me catch you back here."

"Of course. Sorry. Thanks," Sam says, and Dean's breathing only returns to normal when they're back in the car and driving away. Even then, his wings stay tucked tightly behind his back, like they're afraid to show themselves.

 _ **Who was that?**_ Cas asks as Sam drives.

_**Nobody.** _

_**Then why did we run away?** _

_**Because he's not a very nice nobody,**_ Dean says tersely. He can tell his non-answer frustrates Cas, but Dean doesn't care. His dealings with Alastair are a secret to be buried under layers of rock and dust, kept next to the bloodied blades of Hell.

It's actually kind of odd, because remembering what Alastair  _did_  doesn't make Dean feel a damn thing- the memories might as well be scenes from an old movie he's half-forgotten. But the idea of Alastair getting hold of Sam or Cas? That's a different story. Thinking about that makes Dean want to tell them to keep driving, to drive and drive until they're far, far away, until they're somewhere safe.

Dean laughs bitterly at himself for that; there's not enough gas in the world.

"So what's plan B?" Sam says once they're back at the motel. "I mean, we can't dig up Cole with Mr Neighbourhood Watch keeping vigil."

 _ **Should I tell him?**_ Cas says.

Dean considers this. Alastair being topside is definitely something to worry about, but…

_**Nah, not yet. No need.** _

"Hey, what if it's a Reaper?" Sam says, struck with sudden inspiration. "I mean, the souls can't go up or down if there's no one there to work the lifts."

"That sounds plausible. We could ask Bobby what he thinks," Cas suggests.

"Good idea," Sam agrees. "What time is it?"

"Uh, sixteen past two," Cas says, checking his watch.

"Good, he'll still be up."

 _ **You're keeping things from me again,**_ Cas accuses as Sam makes the call. Dean groans- he  _knew_  this was coming.

_**Would you give it a rest?** _

_**No. I don't know why you insist on being so evasive.** _

_**Personal reasons,**_ Dean answers.

A pause.  _ **How can things be personal with a demon?**_

_**Okay, if you're thinking like Sam-and-Ruby personal, then stop. For the love of God,** _ **stop** _**.** _

_**One Winchester procreating with a demon is certainly more than enough.** _

_**Dude, I said stop!** _

"Bobby says he'll call back if he finds anything," Sam declares when he puts the phone down. He falls back onto the bed and groans. "I'm tired. Don't normal people sleep at night?"

"I don't think we would be classed as 'normal'."

"Shame," Sam says, very softly. Neither of them say anything else for a while. Cas makes an example of Sam, bringing his feet up onto the single bed and settling back.

"I wonder where Ruby is," Sam says.

 _ **With any luck, shot, stuffed and mounted,**_ Dean says to Cas.

"I'm sure she's fine," Cas says, a little more firmly than the conversation requires.

"Yeah," Sam echoes. "Still."

 _ **Do you think she always dipped in and out like this?**_ Dean asks. Cas considers this.

"Before we met, when you travelled with Ruby, did she stay with you for longer periods of time?" Cas says to Sam. If this goes badly, Dean's not taking any responsibility.

Sam screws his face up. "She never really  _left_."

"Then why the change now?"

Sam laughs, a short, sharp thing. Cas tilts his head enquiringly. "Nothing, it's just- she says you 'weird her out'," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "She'll get over it. She's just not used to sharing."

"Believe me when I say that Ruby is  _entirely_ yours," Castiel says, with an undertone of revulsion.

 _ **Amen to that,**_ Dean says with feeling. Demon sex is a concept that he tries his hardest to avoid thinking about.

"Yeah, not so much," Sam says. "Me and Ruby… I don't know, man. It's complicated. You know how it is."

"Not really."

Sam looks over curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I have never been in a sexual relationship," Cas states, matter-of-fact as ever, and it really shouldn't shock Dean as much as it does. Okay, so psych ward's not the ideal place to score- but  _seriously?_

_**You're kidding me.** _

"You're kidding me," Sam says. Castiel looks slightly taken aback by the double incredulity.

"I've never had occasion," he says defensively. "There's never been anybody who I've been close enough to… who I've wanted to do that with."

"Fair enough," Sam says.

 _ **No, not fair enough,**_ Dean says, not about to let this go.  _ **You're thirty, Cas. You're telling me in thirty years, you never once met someone you liked enough to see naked?**_

_**I don't understand why that shocks you so much.** _

Dean doesn't either, to be honest. His ward is inexperienced in about a thousand other ways; Dean doesn't know why this one seems so important.

_**Dude, you must have turned down like, a hundred women.** _

_**Not really.** _

The conversation is getting kind of strange. Dean's glad when Sam speaks again and distracts them both.

"It was actually pretty funny," Sam says, chuckling to himself. "When me and Shane were talking, he asked if you and I were together. Like,  _together._ "

"Oh," Cas says. After a beat, he asks "Is that amusing?"

"Well, not really. It's just been a while since I was asked that, I know? It used to happen to me and Dean  _all_  the time- seriously creeped us both out. It was kind of funny to hear it again."

Castiel nods, though Dean suspects he still doesn't really understand. "I see."

"I hadn't missed it," Sam comments. "It's pretty difficult to get a date when everybody thinks you're gay."

"And neither of you were?" Cas asks, and Dean would swear on any number of holy objects that Cas was  _this close_ to slipping up and saying 'are'.

"I'm not, no," Sam answers. "Dean used to say that he didn't discriminate- if they were hot, it didn't matter."

"Really?" Cas says. There's a note of amusement in his voice that will mean nothing to Sam, that's planted there purely because he knows Dean's listening in. Dean grimaces.

 _ **It wasn't like that,**_ he defends.

"Really," Sam confirms. "Direct quote- 'it doesn't matter what's in their pants, so long as I can get in them'."

 _ **Okay, okay, move it on,**_ Dean complains. His little brother talking about his sex life to his Heaven-assigned ward feels like the kind of thing that's either going to make him vomit or get him smote.

* * *

They turn in for the night an hour or so later. Dean's still feeling queasy about having to face Sam, but it doesn't feel right to go so long without talking to him, so he sneaks his way into Sam's dreams. Dean's constantly on the edge of bringing up Azazel and the blood, but he swallows his words back down every time. They don't talk about much, but they do talk. Dean feels better for it.

The next day, at about twelve, the phone rings.

"Bobby? Hey!" Sam answers. "Okay, hold on a sec…" He grabs a notepad and a pen and scribbles furiously. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh- wait, what? What's that even from? Yeah, that'd do it. Thanks again, B- yes, I know! I said, didn't I? Okay, seeya."

Sam hangs up and leans forward. "So get this. Bobby thinks I'm right- someone's kidnapped the town reaper. And in the words of some ridiculous version of Revelations: ' _he bloodied death under the newborn sky- sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured_."

 _ **Is there a 'simple English' option?**_ Dean complains to Cas.

"What's the translation?" Cas asks.

"Basically, kill a Reaper under the solstice moon- which is tonight, by the way- and you've got yourself a broken seal."

"So we know that something or someone is going to try and kill a Reaper, but not who, where, or how to stop it," Cas says. Put like that, things don't seem quite so bright. "How do you kill Death itself?"

Sam shrugs. "Really big gun? No idea. I'm not sure it matters. Even if we  _do_ find what's ganking Reapers, there's no way we can intervene. The only people who can see them are the dead and the dying."

Dean grins.  _ **Have faith, my brother, for I am here.**_

_**What?** _

_**Sam missed a spot. Sure, humans can only see Reapers when their hearts start to go- but what about things that didn't** _ **need** _**the heart in the first place?** _

_**Like what?** _

_**Like angels. Dean Winchester, reporting for service.** _

_**No.** _

Dean blinks, taken aback at the bluntness.  _ **Whaddya mean, no?**_

_**I mean no, Dean.** _

"Cas?" Sam frowns, confused by Cas' sudden silence.

"Yes," Cas says automatically, before focusing back on Sam. "There must be a way. Are there any recorded cases of a Reaper being killed? Or bound?"

Dean doesn't miss the flicker of guilt that crosses Sam's face. "Some," he says carefully. "Binding, at least. Not sure about killing. Looks like we're hitting the history books again."

"Friggin' researchophiles," Dean grumbles as Castiel nods his agreement. Dean  _has_ the solution; he doesn't get why Cas is being so prissy about taking it.

Cas boots up the laptop and Sam begins to flick through their father's journal, triple-checking anything and everything he wrote about Reapers.

 _ **You,**_ Dean accuses Cas,  _ **are being weird about this. Why are you being weird about this?**_

Cas hesitates for a moment and then carefully rests the laptop on the arm of the sofa. He glances over at Sam, but he's engrossed in the book. Cas sits back and folds his arms.

_**I'm 'being weird' because you're proposing not only that you go after something with the power to destroy Death itself, but that you do so alone. Dean, does that honestly seem like a sensible decision to you?** _

_**Right, because we've got so many other options.** _

_**We can find one,**_ Cas says.  _ **We're going to have to.**_

 _ **You can't stop me,**_ Dean says, equally stubbornly.  _ **I'm**_ **your** _ **guardian, not the other way around.**_

Cas' eyes dart around the room before he realises it's pointless and drops them. Cas says a lot with his eyes, and Dean knows he doesn't like not being able to see the person he's talking to. Dean approaches Cas and crouches down so they're at face level.

 _ **I'm here,**_ Dean says.  _ **Right in front of you. That's what I was put here to do, okay? Stand between you and anything trying to hurt you. Whatever's binding Reapers is trying to break a Seal, which is going to fuck up humanity pretty badly, and that kinda includes you by default. This is my job, Cas. Let me do it.**_

 _ **There must be another way,**_ Cas says, but Dean thinks he seems uncertain. His eyes have stopped flickering, and without knowing it, he's looking right at Dean's face.

_**Maybe. But we don't have time to find it.** _

_**Dean, what if Alastair is involved?** _

The word might not come from Cas' lips, but hearing it in his voice still sounds wrong.  _ **Then if I can handle it without having to get you or Sam involved, I'll be friggin' ecstatic.**_

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asks curiously. Cas stops staring into space and looks over at Sam.

"Yes," Cas says.

"You seemed kinda spaced out there."

"I was concentrating. Do you think Ruby could be of any help?"

Sam's lips draw into a tight line. "She's not answering her phone."

"Shocker," Dean mutters.

Cas draws the computer back onto his lap and begins to search, a determined look in his eyes. At first, Dean reluctantly agrees to wait and see if there  _is_  another way- but as he watches Sam, he starts to change his mind.

Sam  _died._ Their parents died. Dean's presence is tainted, like he carries some curse in the air he breathes out. When he cares for people, they get hurt, and then they get hurt too badly for him to fix. Against Dean's better nature, there's something about Cas that means Dean's getting closer to him- way closer than he ever meant to get- and wouldn't it be just like Dean to be the only guardian angel to ever get his ward  _killed?_

Even if Sam and Cas  _can't_ die, here in this whacked-out town, that makes things worse rather than better. Dean doesn't know for sure that Alastair's behind this, but it seems like too big a coincidence for it to be anything else. He knows from personal experience that, to Alastair, death is nothing more than an inconvenience that, when removed, makes torture significantly more enjoyable. When Dean thinks about what Alastair's done and what he could do, the idea of sending Sam or Cas up against him doesn't even bear thinking about.

Dean's handled Alastair once; he can do it again.

The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself it's the right thing to do. By late afternoon, they've found nothing, and Dean has made his decision.  _Sorry, Cas_ , _but I'm flying solo,_ Dean thinks as he disappears from the motel room.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three playlist songs are now available [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2). Thanks for reading, guys- we're over halfway through now!

_When you feel my heat, look into my eyes_  
 _It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide  
_ _Don't get too close, it's dark inside._

_\- Demons, Imagine Dragons_

* * *

If the Reapers are missing from the little town of Greybull, Dean can't tell. It's rare to spot a Reaper at the best of times- they're good at blending into crowds, and they never hang around for long. The first one time Dean saw one- early last month, he thinks it was- it freaked him out big time; he doesn't like to think about how much weird shit is out there, skating below the visibility line. Nowadays, when he sees the silent men and women in their ever-present funeral garb, he tends to look the other way.

Dean wanders through the town, teleporting to random places and searching for signs of… anything, really. He checks for sulphur, ectoplasm, black smoke and hex bags, and finds none of it.

 _ **Dean?**_ Cas is miles away, but his voice sounds crystal clear in Dean's head. It's getting late now- eight, maybe nine o'clock. The moon is out. They might already be too late.

 _ **Yeah?**_ Dean asks.

_**What do you think?** _

_**About what?** _

_**Sam's suggestion.** _

Oh, Jesus  _fuck._ _ **It's, uh…**_

_**You're not here, are you?** _

_**Sure I am.** _

_**Dean** _ **.**

_**Okay, fine, you got me. What did Sam say?** _

_**Where are you?** _

_**Wha-** _

_**Dean,**_ Cas says again, in his best cut-the-bullcrap tone.

 _ **In town,**_ Dean tells him.  _ **Seeing what I can see, monster-wise.**_ Cas, he knows, can't object to that. Dean's done this before, with other cases, and it definitely helps to speed things up.

 _ **Have you found anything?**_ Cas asks.

_**Sweet F.A. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I haven't found it.** _

_**Don't do anything stupid.** _

_**Means a lot that you have faith in me,**_ Dean replies sarcastically. He rounds the corner and stops dead.

"The hell?" he says out loud.

The building is covered in electric blue scribble, sigils made from triangles and circles and zig-zags, but the people wandering pay it no attention. Dean scouts around the building until he finds a sign.

"Funeral home," Dean snorts. "Figures." He vanishes, reappears inside, and makes his way through dark and eerie corridors until he finds company.

There are two people talking nearby, and a quick glance at their faces confirms they're both demons. Slumped on the ground, in the middle of a huge, star-shaped figure, lie two unmoving bodies. Judging by their clothing, Dean's pretty sure they're Reapers.

"Let's get this party started." A third demon enters the room, throwing out the phrase casually as he does so, and Dean doesn't need any help recognising this one. He swallows hard and presses himself tighter to the wall. One of the demons is looking straight at Dean, but Dean's sure it can't see him- after all, Ruby can't.

Alastair picks something up- a scythe, Dean realises with a dull thud in his stomach- and turns it over thoughtfully.

"Moon's in the right spot," Alastair says. "The board is set. Let's get started, shall we?"

Alastair turns to face the Reapers, but something stops him. He turns back curiously, staring right at the place where Dean is standing. Dean freezes, not breathing, not entirely sure his heart is still beating, until Alastair looks away again. _Thank you, angelic invisibility cloak._

Dean's relief is short-lived. He's found the Reapers, he's found what's killing them, but he has absolutely no idea how to stop it.

 _Inias?_ he thinks hopefully. Can the angels still hear him if he doesn't pray out loud?  _Anna? Uriel? Got something going down here._

Nothing. Alastair's standing in the star  _with_  the Reapers now, kneeling next to one of them. Dean doesn't know what to do. He doesn't have time to fetch Sam and Cas. Even if he could, they probably couldn't do anything, and even if  _they_  could, he wouldn't want them to try _._ Not against Alastair.

Alastair presses his scythe to the Reaper's neck, and Dean has to risk it. He doesn't have another choice.

"Anna," he whispers- as quietly as he can, but still too loudly in the near-silence of the funeral home.  _Nobody can hear you,_ he tells himself.  _You're incorporeal, you're fine._ "Inias? Uriel?"

"Hic cruor messorius, illud sigillum," Alastair begins to recite, "quod luciferem-"

No angels arrive. Nobody's coming. Dean tries as hard as he can to manifest, to get into a form where he can run at Alastair and shove the blade from his hands, but it's not working. Apparently, according to the laws of Guardian Angeldom, demons are people too.  _This is_ so _not what the Anti-Discrimination act was made for._

"Reverendum obstringit, aperiat ut resurgat!" Alastair finishes. He pulls the scythe and, in a flash of white-blue light, the Reaper is dead. Alastair lays the body on the floor and gets to his feet, brushing off dust.

"So whaddya think?" Alastair says, plucking a rag from his pocket. "Nine out of ten? Ten? Latin's all about the vowel sounds, I find. I always was good with pronunciation- but, then again, I was around when people were still chattering away in it, so maybe that's cheating. What do you think, Dean?"

A chill passes through Dean. "I know you're there," Alastair continues, wiping the rag along the scythe to clean off the blood. "I must admit, though, I'm a tad confused- why are you up here and not down there? With both of us gone, I hate to think of all those putrid souls missing out on their daily torture."

"They'll cope," Dean says roughly.  _I should've known he can see me, I should've guessed._ Anna had warned Dean that higher-ranking demons could see him, and you don't get much higher than Alastair. "How did you get out?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Alastair muses. "Come out and let me see you properly. Go on. I won't bite." Dean comes forward uncertainly, glancing at the female Reaper collapsed in the star. She's starting to stir.

" _Angel_?" Alastair says, in equal parts disgust and amazement. Dean's wings, apparently visible to the entire supernatural world but him, flatten against his back. "They made  _you_ an angel?  _You_?"

"Trust me, I'm as shocked as you are."

"You don't get it," Alastair says. "They don't roll out guardians on some assembly line. Angels don't make other angels 'less they've got something big planned."

"I don't see how protecting some poor bastard is 'big'," Dean says, trying to keep Alastair talking. The more time he can kill, the more time the Reaper has to regain consciousness. Dean doesn't know how much she can do, but she can't be of less use than him.

The other two demons seem confused; it looks like Alastair's the only one here powerful enough to see through Dean's invisibility. One demon goes to speak, but a glance from Alastair silences them.

"Nice little idea you got goin' on there, about guardians actually being  _guardians_ ," Alastair says, facing Dean again. "System's broken, boy. Heaven's shadier than anything my side could dream up."

"Right, because killing Reapers isn't shady at all," Dean says. He notices, for the first time, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The chains look old.

"It isn't, actually. I'm being very direct in my intentions," Alastair says. "One down, one to go. Hope the bitch will squeal. Remember how they used to squeal, Dean?"

The Reaper opens her eyes. Dean sees his chance, and he takes it.

"Don't," he says hoarsely. "Please, don't."

"Don't  _what_?" Alastair says in obvious delight. "Don't remind you of the people you cut? Of the kids you tore up? Don't be so modest, you're worth the praise. Any one of your clients would agree with me. You remember them begging? How they'd scream 'not him, please _,_ anyone but him' when they were dragged to you? You were famous, Dean, infamous. And personally, I find it just hilarious that the man upstairs thinks ramming a halo on your head and giving you a pair of hand-me-down wings is gonna make all that blood you spilled turn into flowers."

Dean's not listening. He's focusing on the chandelier above Alastair's head, above the sigil drawn on the floor, focusing with everything he has. This isn't lifting a book, this is severing metal chains, and he's verging on blacking out from the sheer effort of it. Alastair finishes his monologue half a heartbeat before Dean's eyes roll back in his head and, with a final sharp gasp and jerk of his body, he does it.

The chandelier falls.

It hits the corner of the trap, breaks the line, and the woman bound by it vanishes. Dean doesn't wait to see what happens next. He appears outside, already bracing himself to teleport again should Alastair be there waiting for him, but instead he finds the Reaper. She's not alone.

"Dean," Inias says immediately. "Are you alright?"

"No thanks to you," Dean grunts.

"We came as soon as we heard your call," Anna promises from Inias' side. "We can't enter the building. That's angel proofing on the walls."

"For real?"

"Yes," Inias confirms. "We did tell you there are advantages to being a guardian."

"Yeah, well," Dean says warily. He doesn't count having to handle Alastair as an advantage. "You okay?" he checks with the Reaper, who nods.

"Heya, Dean," she says.

"We met?" he says, brow wrinkling.

"Yeah, we go way back."

"How many times  _have_ you died?" Anna admonishes Dean.

"I don't do it on purpose!"

The Reaper steps forward and, out of nowhere, gently presses her lips to Dean's. It doesn't do much for him, but as her tongue flicks into his mouth, memories rush into his head. He remembers the crash, the hospital, the Ouija boards, the running, the hiding, everything.

Well, that's one way of doing it.

"Tessa," Dean says when she moves away.

"That's one of my names, yeah," she says. "Thank you. For what you did tonight."

"No problem," he says. "Protecting Seals… people… it's kinda my job now."

"I know," she says, standing back and regarding him. "A guardian, huh?"

"Guess so," he says.

"Yeah," Tessa says. She looks troubled. "And you're sure that was a good idea?"

"Gee, I don't know. The alternative was  _rotting in Hell._ "

"Yes, and I don't doubt that was unpleasant- but when you took the grace, you picked a side in this angel-demon battle to the death. That's not something to do lightly."

"I picked right though, didn't I? I mean, being a guardian- what Alastair was saying…" Anna and Inias are looking at Dean with too much interest, so he lets his voice trail off.

"I don't know, and I don't much care which king you're fighting for," Tessa says. "All I'm saying is that once you've pledged yourself to something, it can be difficult to change your mind afterwards. The Host doesn't look kindly on people going against them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Now might be a good time to go, Tessa," Inias says. There's a polite firmness to his words, and Dean gets the impression that he's not really asking.

"Take care," Tessa says, with a final look at Dean. The envoy of death disappears, leaving Dean in an awkward silence with two angels of the Lord, and he really wishes he could say that's the weirdest thing that's happened to him this month.

"So we done here?" Deans says.

"We're done," Anna confirms. "You did great, Dean. Thank you."

"No problem. Adios, amigos." Anna and Inias smile and disappear before Dean can. Petty though it may be, that bugs him; it's like he's been out-angel'd. Whatever- at least he's not stuck lurking in a doorway just because some demon doodled over the walls.

Dean's closing his eyes to leave when a hand crashes down on his shoulder. He goes to shout, but another hand clamps over his mouth, nails digging into his cheek.

"Dean," Alastair croons into his ear. "Did you really think it'd be that easy? You took my Reaper, you took my Seal... I'm going to need a consolation prize, wings, and I think you'll do nicely."

Dean struggles, trying to get away, but it's been a long time since he had to fight hand-to-hand. He's still incorporeal, but things like that don't matter to things like Alastair.

"Bet you missed this, huh?" Alastair taunts. "You guardians are better hid than most hellhounds. Must be a long time since anyone got this close to you. Well, I got good news for you, Dean- you're in the Veil, and the Veil is  _my_ territory."

All of a sudden, Alastair lets out a blood-curdling scream and throws Dean away from him. Dean hits the ground face-first, gravel spraying into his eyes, wings crashing down behind him. Cursing, Dean rolls over in time to see Alastair disappear in a crack of light. Ignoring the pain in his face and hands, Dean pushes himself up to see Inias stood just behind where Alastair had been.

"Captured," he answers before Dean even asks the question. "He'll be taken to Heaven and held there until we decide on his punishment."

Inias takes a few steps forwards and holds out a hand. Dean takes it and gets to his feet.

"Thanks," Dean says gruffly. Inias' lips curl into a wry smile.

"Not  _all_  angels are dicks," he tells Dean, and then he's gone.

* * *

"Don't you think it was kind of unfair?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asks. They're sitting on Bobby's sofa, legs propped up on the table in front of them. Dean wonders what happens if Sam's dream version of Bobby turns up. Can Dean interact with him too? Or does dreamwalking have special filters set up to deal with that kind of thing? Maybe the universe just says 'NO' and gives up. It really would be Dean's luck to cause an apocalypse by trying to say 'hi' to his kid brother.

"All those people skipping out on dying," Dean clarifies. "They all thought it was some big blessing that they got to live, and now they're all dead. They're holding, like, ten funerals tomorrow."

Sam's face creases in confusion. It can get pretty friggin' difficult, Dean thinks, to keep on acting like a figment of Sam's imagination. There's no reason to think that Sam might guess what's really going on, but it scares the crap out of Dean all the same. His most recent brush with Alastair has him imagining Sam down there, Sam in his place, Sam hacking through sinew and bone. Even if Dean  _could_ sleep, he doesn't think he'd be able to.

"What's dead should stay dead," Sam says grimly. Dean sits back and looks at him.

"Oh,  _really_?" he says. "Because I seem to remember  _you_  dying at one point."

"And I should've stayed dead," Sam says vehemently.

"Don't you say that," Dean says straight-away, Sam's words piercing him like knives. "Don't you dare."

"What? It's  _true,_ Dean. I screwed up, I got caught, I died."

"It wasn't your fault."

"When is dying ever anyone's fault?" Sam says bitterly. "Death sucks. That doesn't mean you get to go screwing around with it."

"So where does your little list fit into things?" Dean snaps. Sam pales, but it's too late to take the words back. "Don't bother denying it. You've been trying to find a way to bring me back."

"And?" Sam says defensively. "You'd do the same for me. You  _did_."

"Yeah, so do you mind not looking a gift horse in the mouth? You can't have it both ways, Sam. Either what's dead should stay dead and I should stay six feet under, or it's plain not fair and we never should have gotten involved with this town."

"We  _didn't_ ," Sam points out. "We have no idea what made people start dying again. We don't even know if the Seal was broken or not."

As soon as Sam and Cas found out that people were dying again- all of them dropping at once, all across town- Cas had looked like he was going to hit something.

 _ **What did you do?**_ he asked flatly.

 _ **Fixed it,**_ Dean replied.

_**And how, exactly, did you do that?** _

_**Does it matter? It's done.**_ Cas had eventually stopped pushing it, though Dean's pretty sure he's still pissed off over the whole thing. Whatever, let him be pissed. Dean did his bit to save the world, crummy though it feels- and, more than that, he kept Cas and Sam safe. There's no way he'd ever regret that.

"Besides," Sam says. "I'm… not looking. Not anymore."

Dean's not sure what he means. "Not looking for what?"

"A way to bring you back," Sam says, staring down at his hands. "I- heh," he says, the awkward little laugh that Dean remembers so well. "Bobby was worried I was interested in this case for… the wrong reasons. He wasn't sure about giving it to me. And, if I'm honest, he was right to be afraid- I wanted to check it out in case it could help bring you back."

"So what changed?"

"Cas was quiet today," Sam says, such a non-sequitur that Dean's seriously wondering if he zoned out and missed something.

 _"What_?" Dean says in bewilderment.

"I don't know what it was, but he definitely seemed off. And I was sat there, wondering if he was okay and whether I could help, and it just kind of hit me that I'm… not alone anymore. There are people- real, live people- that I care about and that need me. This whole Kamikaze, get-you-back-no-matter-the-cost thing… I can't think like that anymore. I can't just quit on Cas and Bobby."

Dean wonders if he should clap a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder or something, but instead he sits still and lets Sam talk. No Winchester is great with words, but while Dean avoids them wherever possible, Sam has a tendency to keep on trying until he manages to find some that fit.

"I mean, maybe there's a way to bring you back without having to trade places, but I can't spend my whole life trying to find it. The demons are breaking Seals every day, and Cas can't take them on alone. I don't wanna drag him around the country looking for ways to bring you back," Sam says- and then, with that little laugh again, "I wanna help him save the world."

"Damn straight," Dean says. Sam looks at him, searching Dean's face for signs of anger or disappointment, but you can't find something that isn't there.

"I guess having people in my life again- friends- reminded me that there's a world beyond… you," Sam says. "Does that make me awful?"

"What? No! Hell no, Sam! That's  _good._ That's what I would have- that's what I want," Dean says fiercely. Sam gives him a smile, complete with trademark watery eyes, and Dean gives in and hugs his goddamn brother.

"Look at you, all emotionally mature," Dean teases when he pulls away. "It's like I don't even know you."

"Well, I always  _was_ the more sensible one."

"Careful, Pinocchio, or your nose might take the TV out."

Sam laughs. "You know, it's weird," he comments off-handedly. "I dream about you way more than I used to." Dean's heart stops.

"What do you mean?" he says carefully.

"After you… died," Sam says, "I didn't really dream about you- not like this. I had nightmares sometimes, but even they'd started to fade by the time I met Cas. Then, a couple months back, you started turning up again," Sam says. "Near every night. Don't know why."

Sam seems happy enough about it. Dean smiles weakly, because what else is there to do?

Later, after Dean's pulled out of the dream, he stands for a while and watches Sam sleep. He still sleeps like he did as a kid - one hand curled under the pillow, the other wrapped around his own body. Dean used to think it looked like Sam was hugging himself- but now he thinks it's more like Sam's restraining himself, holding himself back. Sam doesn't trust himself, doesn't like himself, can't even  _live_ for himself- but he can live for Cas, and he can live for Bobby, and that's good enough for now.

In the next few weeks, maybe Sam will notice that he's not dreaming about Dean as often. The visits will drop from nearly every night to a few times a week, to a few times a fortnight, until Dean never really shows up anymore. Maybe he'll still dream of Dean in his own, quiet way- a Dean that really is nothing but imagination- but it probably won't be a nightly occurrence. As Sam slowly learns how to move on, Dean will help where he can by learning how to let him.

Sometimes, Dean reflects bitterly as he leaves Sam's side, doing the right thing really fucking hurts.

* * *

Christmas appears without anybody inviting it, and Dean doesn't even realise until Sam slaps his hand against his head.

"Man, Cas, I'm sorry," he says. Cas tilts his head in that inquisitive way of his.

"Why?"

"It's Christmas. I totally forgot."

"Oh," Cas says- and then, after a pause, "Why are you apologising?"

"This isn't exactly special," Sam says, waving a hand around the Impala's interior. Dean scowls.  _I don't care if you_ are  _my brother, you don't get to badmouth my car._

"I've never really celebrated it," Cas shrugs.

"No?"

"No. In the hospital, the majority of patients went home for Christmas Day."

"You didn't?"

"No. I don't remember ever being granted leave."

" _Ever_?" Sam says in shock. "In sixteen years?"

 _ **That's some Hotel California crap right there,**_ Dean informs Cas.

"It wasn't that bad," Cas says. "After a while, I was more anxious at the idea of leaving than of staying."

Dean likes to think he's pretty much got this emotion-reading crap sorted out now. It's like having a conversation with somebody- if they're waving their arms around and shouting, you know they're full-on, seeing-red furious. But if they're only a little annoyed, you have to look for the smaller signs- the thinning of their lips, the hardness in their eyes, the edge in their voice.

It's the same deal with Cas. If he's really angry or sad or scared, then it's impossible for Dean to miss. Cas doesn't go to the extremes of emotion much, though, so Dean's learned to pick up on the smaller signals. When Dean feels more irritable than usual, it's a pretty good indicator that Cas is in a bad mood. When Dean feels a touch of nausea or something cold twisting in his stomach, Cas is afraid.

So when Dean was new to this, untrained, and he could  _still_ feel the waves of fear smacking into him, Cas was more than slightly anxious. He was fucking terrified, stepping out into a world that he hadn't seen for  _sixteen years_ , and the first thing Dean did was have him take out a ghost. The ghost of his mother, to make it that bit worse.

Dean vaguely remembers Anna saying something about guardian angels being there for 'support' and 'care' and thinks that, if that's the case, then he fucked up big time. Heaven are probably still livid about the whole thing, but that isn't why it bothers Dean.

Sam ends up throwing a six-pack of Twix bars at Cas after their next stop (gas stations, apparently, don't celebrate Christmas either).

"Merry Christmas," Sam says, getting in the car. Cas looks down at the packet in confusion.

"I don't understand," he says.

"Consider it your present and Christmas dinner rolled into one."

 _ **I don't have anything for him,**_ Cas says to Dean.

_**He won't care. Just say thank you.** _

"Thank you," Cas says. He tears open the packet and, after a moment's thought, hands Sam one of the bars. Sam grins and tucks it away in his jacket.

 _ **If you get chocolate on my seats, I**_ **will** _ **kill you,**_ Dean warns Cas.

 _ **That seems an overreaction.**_ Cas unwraps a candy bar and bites into it. Dean is oddly captivated by the way he licks the chocolate from his lips, to the point where he's actually glad to be invisible because he's definitely staring.

"Stop that," Dean says out loud to himself, but it doesn't have much of an effect.  _Does it ever?_

They work a couple more jobs, nothing big. Dean makes Cas watch the Star Wars movies and ensures he understands how much he has to hate the prequels _._  At some point, 2008 turns into 2009; none of them really notice. There's a mentally scarring case where the perp turns out to be a real, feral girl, some fairly run-of-the-mill stuff with magicians, and all the while Ruby dips in and out with pieces of news, a mother bird bringing home worms.

"Fifteen fishermen went blind on a fishing trip yesterday evening," Cas says one morning. Sam's driving, Cas flicking through newspapers as they go.

"Another Seal?" Sam asks.

"Sounds like it."

Sam grimaces. "Ruby will meet us in Cheyenne," he says. "She's been tracking some leads."

"Good. Hopefully she'll know more." They're still no closer to finding Lilith, and it's starting to freak Dean out. Inias dropped by a few days ago and shared that the number of Seals broken is fast approaching forty. Lilith's work is being done in every corner of the globe, in places Dean's never heard of and can't even pronounce, and it's taking its toll on Heaven.

"We'll prevail," Inias had said, but his voice had been rough and his words unsure. "We have to."

"We will," Anna reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Inias looked at it in confusion- it was a strangely human gesture, Dean supposes, for creatures who wear people like Dean wears jeans- and Anna had started to pull away. Before she could, Inias had reached up to cover her hand with his own, meeting her gaze and holding it.

Dean had looked away pretty pointedly. Later, he found himself dwelling on the fact that Inias can touch Anna whenever he wants, just like she can still see him even when no one else can. Dean doesn't see any reason why it shouldn't work that way for guardians and their wards too. It doesn't exactly  _matter_ \- it just seems kind of unfair, that's all.

They arrive in Cheyenne late at night, stopping at the first crummy motel they see. Ruby greets them there and takes Sam's bag from him.

"Ruby," he protests, trying to take it back.

"You really think you're stronger than me? You look like crap," she says affectionately. "I've already got our room."

"Thanks," Sam says, a tired smile on his face. They've been on the road for hours, a drive made even longer by Sam's insistence on playing noise that Dean doesn't even think can legally be called music.

 _ **We need to teach you to drive,**_ Dean comments to Cas as he checks in, Sam hanging around in case there are any problems with the not-strictly-legal credit card.

 _ **In your car?**_ Cas asks. It's a valid point.

 _ **Sure,**_ Dean says, after a pause that lasts for a little too long.  _ **You wouldn't crash it, right? Right?**_

_**Not intentionally.** _

Dean goes to reply, but something else catches his attention. There's a man standing in the lobby, staring at Dean with scarily intense eyes.  _Oh, come on, what did I do this time?_

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks incredulously. "I thought you didn't like to sully your delicate feet with our mud."

"I don't," Uriel snaps. "Believe me, half-breed, this isn't where I want to be. I don't have a  _choice._ "

"Orders from above, huh?" Dean asks in mock sympathy. "Man, it really must suck to be spoken down to by people higher up the chain."

Uriel glares at him with pure, undisguised hatred. "I need to speak with you."

"Shoot." Sam and Cas have left the lobby to go and find their rooms, but Dean can catch up with them later. If Uriel's on Earth, something big is going on, and Dean wants to know what.

"You may prefer to have this conversation in private," Uriel says.

"Sure, because so many people are gonna overhear us. Cut the crap, Uriel."

"Mind your tongue," Uriel growls, "or I'll have it taken from you."

"You can stand here and threaten me all day if that's what you want. I don't sleep anymore, I've got the time. You could always just  _tell_  me what Heaven wants, but I guess-"

"We need your help," Uriel says, and Dean takes spiteful pleasure in how forced the words are.

"Fashion advice?" Dean offers. "Makeup tips?"

"Forgive me for not laughing, but angels are being killed," Uriel says bitingly. "Most of the fatalities so far have been members of my garrison. My brothers and sisters die around me."

That's… weirdly compassionate, for Uriel. "Which garrison are you in?" Dean asks, though it's not like he'll know names.

"The one led by Anna," he replies, and yeah, okay, he's gotten Dean's attention.

"Who's behind it?" Dean says cautiously. "Demons?"

"That seems likely, but we don't know the specifics."

"So what, you need my help demon hunting?"

"Not exactly," Uriel says. "We do have  _one_ lead."

"Great. Who?"

"A demon by the name of Alastair."

Whenever Dean thinks he's heard that name for the last time, some asshole has to bring it up again. "We've met," Dean grunts.

"Oh, I know," Uriel says smoothly. "If anybody knows who's killing angels, it will be him. We have him as our captive- the problem is that he refuses to talk. No matter what we do, he refuses to give us a name."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Alastair  _invented_ torture," Dean says. "He was never going to crack because a few angels asked nicely."

"Believe me, we've been anything but pleasant. But all the same, our techniques have failed, and so now we come to you."

Dean freezes in place. "For what?"

"Castiel," Uriel clarifies, and wow, how can one word carry such weight? Dean feels like he's been hit by a truck. It takes him a second to force the breath from his lungs; it's stuck there, everything in him tight and frozen and  _afraid._

"You were Alastair's best student," Uriel continues. "Very few people understand his methods as you do. Unfortunately for  _us,_ your current state renders you useless. You can't manifest around Alastair."

"So? I can still touch him," Dean argues. "The guy friggin' attacked me."

"Ah, but can you lift a blade? Fill a syringe? You can't interrogate Alastair by  _prodding_ him, Dean. No, the task requires somebody fully on the mortal plane. Castiel will do it, and you will instruct him."

"No," Dean says flatly. Uriel arches an eyebrow.

"Who said anything about asking?"

" _Me,_ " Dean snarls. "It's not happening, Uriel. I'm not doing it."

"If you refuse to help us, I will ask Castiel to do it anyway, and he will say yes."

"He will  _not_ ," Dean says absolutely. "I won't let him. He's my ward, he'll listen to what I say. And if you so much as lay a  _finger_ on him-"

"Then I'll ask Sam," Uriel says simply, and that stops Dean dead. "Your powers may prevent me from forcing Castiel to cooperate, but I can do whatever I want to Sam."

"You fucking-" Dean begins, but Uriel holds up a hand.

"These are your choices, Dean. Agree to my offer and be with Castiel throughout the process. You will tell him what to do, offer him support, and ensure that he is not alone. If you do your job correctly, it will be quick. It will be effective. Anna and Inias will be safe."

"The alternative," Uriel continues, "is your refusal. First, I will contact Castiel and do everything in my power to make him do it anyway, and I can almost guarantee that he  _will._ If he does not, the task will fall to Sam. Either way, one of them will do it, and you will be kept far, far away. While the task is performed on Earth, you will be taken to Heaven and… reminded of your duties."

"If you're so good with the fucking thumbscrews, why won't Alastair talk?" Dean spits.

"Our methods have proved incompatible with creatures such as Alastair. I can assure you, we won't have the same problem with you," Uriel says. He begins to fiddle with a button on his shirt cuff, the very picture of indifference. Dean has never been so angry in his life. He can feel his wings spreading behind him, growing and writhing. He can't see straight, think straight, and Uriel just carries on speaking.

"I imagine Sam and Castiel have little experience with torture," Uriel says calmly. "They will blunder their way through. Alastair will taunt them as they do so and, in time, he will get to them. No doubt they will fail, but they will not be allowed to give up easily. It will be days before I acknowledge their defeat and allow them stop."

Before Dean can stop himself, he pulls his fist back and punches Uriel, as hard as he can. It's like punching solid rock. Dean hears something in his hand shatter and stifles a scream of pain. He doubles over in agony, cradling his hand to his chest, and Uriel reaches over to tap him between the shoulder blades. The pain disappears in an instant, the injury healed.

"What will it be?" Uriel asks mildly.

Whenever Dean thinks of Alastair in the past tense, he feels okay. He is unafraid. But as soon as he starts extrapolating, pictures facing Alastair again, his calm detachment explodes into shards of fear and chaos and dread. It's even worse when he imagines  _Cas_ doing it- Cas lifting a blade, Cas cutting into flesh, Cas kept awake at night by the relentless drum of guilt.

But if it comes to Cas doing it alone or doing it with Dean by his side, there's no question.

"Yes," Dean says, hating the word, hating Uriel, hating himself. "I'll do it, you fucking bastard. My answer is yes."

* * *

Cas and Sam booked separate rooms again so Dean has no excuse for staying hidden; he has to talk to Cas face to face.

 _ **Hey,**_ he says limply, before letting himself drop into visibility. Cas smiles, triggering a familiar twinge in Dean's chest. Out of nowhere, he finds himself remembering the abstract chaos of Cas' nightmares. After what Dean's going to have him do, maybe that chaos will take form.

Dean attempts to return the smile. Cas steps closer, tilting his head to the side as he examines Dean.

"What's wrong?" Cas asks, concerned.

 _Am I really that easy to read_? "Nothing," Dean says, an instinctive response. He clears his throat. "I, uh- I got work for you."

"And Sam?"

"No, not Sam," Dean says, shaking his head.  _Not if I can avoid it._ "Just you."

"What is it?"

"Angels ordered it," Dean says. He has to get Cas to understand that this isn't his idea, that he doesn't  _want_ this. "There's this guy- no, this angel- no, this  _douchebag_ \- called Uriel, and he told me you had to do it- and believe me, Cas, I tried to tell him otherwise, but he-"

" _Dean_ ," Castiel says. His hands curl tight around Dean's biceps, cutting Dean off mid-sentence. Cas is brimming with worry and anxiety, and absolutely none of it is for himself. "Calm down. What's going on?"

"Alastair," Dean says with a swallow. Cas lets go of Dean, but he doesn't move away.

"The demon from the cemetery?"

"That's the one," Dean says, with fake cheer. "He was the son-of-a-bitch killing the Reapers. I stopped him and he was captured, but now… angels are dying. My friends might be next. They think Alastair…"

"How can I help?" Cas asks.

 _Run,_ Dean wants to say _. Go back to the hospital and forget everything you've seen. Pretend that demons and angels are just stories, nothing but words in your friggin' Bible. Run far from Sam, far from me, and don't come back._

"Come with me," is what he says.

He reaches out a hand to touch Cas on the arm, but instead Cas slips his hand into Dean's with no further questions. Dean closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the pure, overwhelming trust in Cas', and focuses on getting them to where they need to be.

* * *

When Dean said yes, Uriel took him briefly to the building where they're holding Alastair. That's where Dean goes now and though it's his first time trying it, bringing Cas along proves easy. Cas stumbles when they touch down, reaching out blindly.

"Hey, steady!" Dean says, lunging forwards to set one hand on Cas' hip, the other on his arm. "Breathe, okay?" Dean says, helping him find his balance. Apparently, teleportation's not so easy on humans.

"I'm fine," Cas gulps. Dean takes longer than he should in letting go, letting his hands slide from Cas' body rather than lifting them straight off. Cas turns to face the red brick building, taking it in. Uriel, Dean knows, will be waiting for them inside. The night is black and littered with stars, weak light washing over their feet from a nearby security light.

"Where are we?" Cas questions.

"Nowhere," Dean says bluntly. Uriel's picked a disused factory miles away from anywhere else, prepped and prettied to 'fit their needs'. Dean doesn't even know if they're still in America.

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on eventually, you know," Cas says. Dean looks at him sharply, but Cas' tone is gentle and his words genuine.

 _Get on with it,_ Dean tells himself.  _The sooner Cas does it, the sooner it's over._

"Alastair knows who's killing angels," he says brusquely. "Angels can't make him talk. They wa- need you to do it."

There's a long, long pause. Dean doesn't look at Cas.

"I'm assuming that by 'making him talk', you're referring to torture," Cas says emotionlessly. He's watched Sam force enough demons into spilling the beans, watched him curl his fingers or tilt his head to push their screams up another few notches. So far, Castiel's never been asked to help.

"Yeah."

Another pause. "I don't understand. Why have you come to me?"

Because there's no use yanking strings when where's no puppet attached, because Dean needs someone else to cut along the dotted lines he draws, because he's become known as the guy to come to if you want to make someone hurt. Some legacy he's carved for himself.

"I don't know," is what Dean says. "Apparently I'm not on the 'need-to-know' list. All they said was that it had to be you and me."

"You?" Cas says, and Dean thinks he sounds more horrified than he had at the idea of facing it alone.

"What, you thought I was gonna go take a nap?" Dean says, attempting a grin.

"I don't know what to do," Cas says. "To hurt somebody. I don't know how."

"You'll learn," Dean says quietly, so damn quietly. Cas pulls his coat tighter around his body.

"Should we go in?" Cas says. Dean lets his knuckles brush against the back of Cas' hand, a silent show of solidarity.

"Go for it," he says, and then he's leading Cas to the narrow door hidden at the back. He knocks, waits, and Uriel takes longer than Dean feels is necessary to open it.

"Are we feeling ready?" Uriel says, and it takes serious effort on Dean's part to cling onto the sensation of finger bones shattering, to remember what's at stake if he fucks this up. Dean and Cas remain silent, and Uriel locks the door with a glance as soon as they're inside.

Alastair is chained to a hexacle, a Devil's trap encircling his feet. The space is big, Dean thinks as he looks through the window, bigger than it needs to be. Alastair stands out too much, a concentrated spot of colour and noise and anger and pain against the room's silent stillness.

"This is almost certainly the only time I'll ever say this, but do as Dean advises," Uriel instructs Castiel. "He's something of an expert in this field."

Dean can feel Cas' eyes on him, but he doesn't turn. He keeps his face pressed to the little window, his eyes trained on Alastair.

"And if we're unsuccessful?" Cas says. "If Alastair won't crack?"

"Then you will try again," Uriel says, and Dean doesn't have to see the overly-pleasant smile on his face to know it's there.

"Enough chitchat," Dean growls, moving away from the door. "Are we doing this or what?"

"So eager," Uriel muses, and then the door swings open. "Be my guest."

Dean means to go in, he really does, but he falters for a moment. Cas pushes past him, and Cas going in is enough to pull Dean in too, and then the door is clanging shut behind them and Alastair is raising his eyes toward them.

He starts to laugh.

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me," he chuckles. "The sweet little thing from the graveyard?  _He's_ your ward?"

"You get one chance, Alastair," Dean says flatly. "One chance to tell me who's killing angels. A name."

"I don't want to talk to  _you,_ " Alastair protests, and Cas tilts his head in confusion.  _No friggin' wonder_. Uriel's an angel, part of the exception to the rule that Dean can't manifest around others, but Alastair's about as far from angelic as it gets. Dean felt himself lift away the second they walked in and now Castiel can't see him, can't hear him, has nothing but faith and a whisper in his head to prove he's not alone.

"I heard you sing quite enough down in the Pit, thank you very much," Alastair continues. "No, angel-boy, I want to hear it from the new meat.  _Flesh._ " Alastair takes a bizarre pleasure in the word, grinning as it slides from his lips. Dean feels a shudder of revulsion from Cas.

 _ **Yeah, he's a real smooth talker,**_ Dean says.

 _ **Tell me what to do,**_ Cas says.

_**I asked him who was killing angels. Tell him to answer the question.** _

"Answer the question," Castiel says robotically. Alastair's smile widens.

"Psychic sweet-talking, huh? Why, Dean, you old romantic."

"Last chance," Dean warns, voice like stone.

"You already  _gave_ me my last chance," Alastair points out, rolling his wrists in their shackles. Dean can make out Alastair's true face lurking behind his human façade- or is it in front of it? Either way, it's unspeakably disturbing. "And in my opinion, that was already one too many. That's how I taught it, Dean. Didn't you take notes?"

 _ **The cart,**_ Dean tells Cas, nodding at a cloth-covered table in the corner.  _ **Uriel said it has what we need.**_

Castiel walks over and pulls the cloth off. Uriel, it seems, does not lack for creativity. Alastair's laughing again, banging his chains against the wall.

"Come  _on!_ " he shouts, as Castiel stands and stares at the vast array of weapons laid out in front of them. "What's  _taking_ so long?"

 _ **Cas?**_ Dean asks- and then, when he gets no response, he turns away from Alastair and towards Cas. Dean wants to touch him again, to curl a hand around his elbow or physically turn him away from the knife he can't seem to stop staring at, but he can't.  _ **Cas, listen to me. You can do this.**_

 _ **But I don't**_ **want** _ **to,**_ Cas says agitatedly, and there it is. Dean doesn't think the guardian angel in him is only the reason he wants to rip the whole room down around them, wants to unshackle Alastair and watch Uriel drown in his own blood. The distress in Cas' tone, the  _pleading_ , is almost more than Dean can handle.

Almost.

 _ **I know,**_ Dean says. He doesn't look back at Alastair.  _ **For what it's worth,**_   _ **I'd give anything not to have you do this.**_

_**But I** _ **do** _**have to?** _

_**I'm sorry,**_ is Dean's only answer.

 _ **Tell me what to start with,**_ Castiel says.

_**Cas…** _

_**I don't know what would be most effective. I need you to tell me.** _

_**Syringe,**_ Dean says.  _ **Syringe, that bottle, and something for filling. A cup or something.**_

 _ **This?**_ Castiel asks, closing his hand on a small metal cup.

_**That's great, yeah.** _

Under Dean's instruction, Cas pours holy water into the cup and then draws it into the syringe. Alastair talks the whole time, his voice rolling towards them in perpetual, languid waves.

 _ **Don't listen to him,**_ Dean tells Cas.  _ **You can't let him get inside your head. You want a name and that's all- ignore anything and everything else. We clear?**_

 _ **Yes,**_ Castiel says calmly. Dean focuses on what Cas is feeling deep down inside, and the tumult of fear and anger and sadness is a near-physical force. Dean shrinks away and leaves Cas to carry on repressing it all. Who knows? Maybe he's learning a trick or two from Dean after all.

 _ **You're gonna need to go over there now,**_ Dean says, and Cas obeys without comment.

"Gosh, you're pretty," Alastair comments as Cas moves closer. "And you brought me a present, how thoughtful."

_**Ask him the question again, Cas. Don't talk other than to ask him that question.** _

"Who's killing the angels?" Castiel asks, keeping his voice steady. The syringe trembles in his hands.

"Promise me something, would ya?" Alastair says. "Look at me when you push that plunger down. I want to see your face. I want to see you reach the point of no return."

To his credit, Castiel doesn't even flinch.  _ **Now?**_ he asks Dean.

 _ **Please,**_ Dean growls. Cas pushes the needle into Alastair's arm, fumbling with it a little, and injects the solution in three shaky jerks.

Cas keeps his head turned toward the ground, but he still flinches when Alastair throws his head back and screams. The syringe falls to the floor and smashes, but Cas makes no move to pick it up. Dean wishes he could tell Castiel that Alastair's only faking, trying to throw Cas off his game, but there's no way you can fake pain like that.

 _ **He's a demon,**_ Dean says instead.  _ **Don't forget that. There's no soul in there, nothing but evil and black smoke.**_ Castiel slowly raises his head until he's looking directly into Alastair's screaming face. Cas' own expression remains carefully blank.

"Tell me who's killing the angels," Cas says when Alastair's howls have given way to shallow pants.

"Why do you care?" Alastair gasps. "I don't see any wings strapped to your back. You're a lost little lamb that wandered onto the battlefield and got mistaken for a soldier."

 _ **Dip a knife in holy water,**_ Dean advises Castiel.  _ **Any knife. You choose.**_

Castiel's hand closes around the first thing he finds, a thin silver dagger. He pours more holy water into the metal cup and carefully tips it over the knife, rivulets dribbling down his fingers and trickling underneath his sleeves.

 _ **Slice wherever,**_ Dean tells Castiel.  _ **Arm's good.**_

Wordlessly, Castiel pushes Alastair's sleeve up. He lines the knife up against the back of Alastair's wrist and the demon hisses, the kiss of holy water already stinging him.

"Tell me," Castiel says.

"How rude," Alastair says. "You never even introduced yourself. All I know is what I hear from our beloved Dean, and he's not feeling talkative. He's watching, though, oh yes he is," Alastair says. Cas presses on the blade, and Alastair hisses.

"You should've seen him when you went ahead and flushed me with that holy water," Alastair carries on. "Don't think I've ever seen anyone look so disappointed."

The last word is lost into a high pitched gasp as Castiel draws the blade across Alastair's wrist, a quick slice at the flesh. It's not a deep wound, but the holy water is chilli on cracked lips, salt on a burn. Alastair tries to twist away from the pain and Castiel repositions the blade a few inches up.

 _ **Don't listen,**_ Dean reminds Cas.  _ **He's lying to you.**_

"Tell me," Cas says to Alastair again.

"Tell you how much you've let your precious guardian angel down? Don't mind if I do."

Castiel cuts; Alastair screams.

"Tell me," Castiel repeats.

"He thought you were different, see. He thought you were  _better_  than that."

Castiel cuts; Alastair screams.

"Shut the fuck up," Dean snarls at Alastair.

"He's agreeing," Alastair informs Castiel. "He's thanking me for telling it how it is."

 _ **I'm not**_ **,** Dean tells Cas vehemently.  _ **I swear on Sam's life, I'm**_ **not.** _ **Demons lie.**_

"Tell me," Castiel says yet again, his voice still empty, his face still empty, everything, everything empty.

"Dean ever tell you what went on in the Pit?" Alastair gasps. "Because I can promise you, he wasn't always the catcher."

Castiel cuts; Alastair screams.

It's never-ending. Alastair splutters out hints about Dean's time in Hell, insinuations and suggestions broken up by guttural screams, and Castiel ignores them all. He works systematically, his blade leaving parallel, equidistant cuts, his hand coming down like the drumbeat in a song that's keeping everything else from falling apart.

 _ **Time to kick it up a notch,**_ Dean says when both of Alastair's arms are lacerated, his skin soaked in blood.  _ **Fetch the salt.**_

Castiel drops the knife without hesitation and the clang of metal against stone ricochets off the walls in time with Alastair's peals of laughter. Castiel moves to the table and closes his hands, which Dean will pretend are not shaking, around the vat of salt.

 _ **What next?**_ Cas asks.

_**Empty some into a small container. Take that over to Alastair.** _

Cas does so, pausing to pick the dagger up from the floor. He wipes the blade across his thighs, demon blood leaving sticky red smears.

 _ **Shake the salt onto the knife,**_ Dean says.  _ **Salt sticks better than water. It should last longer. Hurt more.**_

Castiel's only talking now to ask or answer basic questions, and Dean's copying his lead. A line from a book Dean borrowed from Sam during a summer a thousand years ago pushes into his head, unwelcomed.

" _If he thinks he floats off the floor, and if I simultaneously think I see him do it, then the thing happens."_

Castiel's mouth is in a tight line, his face impassive. His mind, Dean thinks, isn't in the room with the rest of him.

_If I don't think this is happening and Cas doesn't think this is happening, maybe it isn't happening at all._

"Round three," Alastair trills. "I hope you're not getting sleepy there, Dean."

"Bite me," Dean snaps.

"Who's killing the angels?" Castiel asks for what could be the twentieth, fiftieth, hundredth time. Alastair finishes it with Castiel, mouthing the words as they leave Cas' lips.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't know?"

Cas lifts the knife, grains of salt falling from it as he does, and Alastair's chains clank as he shrinks away.

"Alright!" he says. "I'll talk."

That's not how this works, not how Alastair works. Dean watches, wary, as Castiel lowers the knife.

"Go on," Cas says.

"Long time ago, in a place called Hell," Alastair begins, "there was a man tied up on my rack. And every single day I got to slice him up, and watch him bleed, and break him into itty-bitty pieces and glue him back together again. And every day, I'd make him an offer."

 _ **Cas, this doesn't matter,**_ Dean says immediately, breaking the professional silence they've been carefully maintaining.  _ **I'm telling you, he's not answering the question.**_

"I'd say 'do you wanna hop down and give ol' Alastair a hand?'" Alastair continues. "And he'd say, all shocked and innocent,  _no, Alastair._ No, that's  _wrong!_  And the cutting would start again, and he'd scream and scream, and I'd ask again and he'd say no. But guess what?"

 _ **Cas, don't listen,**_ Dean beseeches. Castiel turns away, gripping the dagger tight in his hand.

"Who's killing the angels?" he says tightly. Alastair doesn't skip a beat.

"He  _broke,_ Cas. He said 'yes, please!' You know, his  _daddy_  held out. His daddy managed it. Then again, I guess he was never the man his daddy wanted him to-"

Alastair is cut off mid-sentence by Cas plunging the knife into his chest. Alastair screams, salt worming its way into his blood, Castiel leaning against the blade with all his weight. He moves his face close to Alastair's, so very close, and speaks.

"Start talking, you son of a bitch," Cas spits, words dripping with venom, while Alastair screams and screams. Castiel twists the blade, and his eyes aren't blank anymore; they're lit up with a kind of fire that Dean recognises only too well.

 _ **Cas,**_ he says. Castiel ignores him, eyes still fixed hungrily on Alastair, the demon's body spasming in agony.  _ **You can't- you gotta give him a chance to talk.**_ Nothing. _ **Dammit, Cas, take the knife out!**_

Cas yanks the dagger free, and it slips from Alastair's flesh with a sickeningly moist sound.

"I broke him!" Alastair gasps. "I broke him, I broke your precious fucking guardian, and when he said 'yes', that was the first Seal."

Both Dean and Castiel freeze.

"You're lying," Dean says, sounding even less sure than he feels.

"And it is written," Alastair announces, and though his voice shudders and cracks, it still echoes through the cavernous space, "that the first Seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break."

Dean can't think. When he tries, his mind is nothing but angrily buzzing static. Alastair is laughing: he's back in control, and he knows it. Dean turns his head away, unable to look at Cas, at Alastair, at  _anything._

"Aren't you proud?" Alastair leers at Cas. "When Lilith hits sixty-six and the world comes down, I'll be thanking my agent, the academy, and one Dean Winchester."

Dean is still staring at nothing when, just out of his vision, something falls to the ground. He works out what's happening a heartbeat before Alastair does.

 _ **Cas!**_ he shouts, but it's too late. Water is dripping from the pipe, smudging the edge of the trap, and Alastair's flinging his chains aside like they don't weigh a thing.

 _ **Dean!**_ Cas says, stumbling back, and Dean moves towards him instinctively.

 _ **It's okay,**_ he says, even though it's about as far from okay as you can get, a million miles away from anything even  _slightly_ 'okay'. Castiel backs away and Dean plants himself between his ward and Alastair, who's flexing his fingers as a grin grows on his face.

"If you touch him, I will kill you," Dean warns, his voice low and steady. His wings echo the sentiment, stretching out on both sides as if to try and block Cas from view. "You know I'm not lying, you son of a bitch. You touch a single hair on his head and I will  _end_ you."

"Such a flirt," Alastair muses, sucking in breath through his teeth and rolling his head around his neck. Cas is still gripping the dagger, but he's stopped retreating; he's standing his ground.

"I can't lay a finger on you," Alastair tells Cas regretfully. "But that's okay. Bigger fish."

Alastair lunges for Dean, throwing a punch that connects with his jaw and sends him slamming into the wall. Dean's not prepared for the vicious pain that blossoms through his face- it's been so damn long since he was hurt, since anyone was  _able_ to hurt him.

"Dean!" Castiel shouts, and Dean takes a moment to acknowledge how bizarre this must look to him- Alastair punching empty space, talking to somebody who isn't there. If Dean's still alive in an hour, maybe they'll laugh about it.

 _ **I'm fine,**_ Dean says, ignoring the ringing in his head and getting clumsily to his feet.  _ **Get out! Go!**_

Castiel ignores him. He runs at Alastair, lifting the dagger, but Alastair holds out a hand and Castiel finds himself pinned in place.

The pain leaves Dean as power floods him. He reaches out for Alastair greedily, but something's blocking him off. Dean can feel the power crackling behind his fingertips, but he can't seem to make it go anywhere.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Alastair says, ignoring Cas to move towards Dean. "Scout's honour. I'm only gonna hold him still. You can't get  _too_ angry about that, can you, feathers?"

Dean can't. He wants to- oh, he really does want to- but that's not how this works. Someone pointing a gun at Cas' head would trigger Dean's powers; someone holding a gun in the same room as him would not. As long as Cas isn't in immediate danger, there's not a damn thing Dean can do.

"Uriel!" Dean yells, hating himself for it. "Uri-"

Alastair's hand clamps tight around Dean's mouth, his breath soft against Dean's face. " _Dean,_ " he murmurs disapprovingly. "Don't be like that." His other hand darts to wrap around Dean's throat. Dean's eyes bulge and his wings start to beat desperately. His hands claw at Alastair's, but his grip is too tight to dislodge.

"Uriel!" Cas takes over. "Uriel, help!"

"Scream all you want, kids," Alastair dismisses, never loosening his hold. Dean's wings are going insane now, thrashing so hard that it hurts his shoulders. "Daddy's not coming."

"Let him  _go_!" Castiel shouts.

"You wait your turn," Alastair says without turning around. "Really, it's a shame," he continues to Dean. "I wanted your final moments to be more special than this. You guardians might not eat or sleep, but you still have this silly little need for air. It's pathetic." Alastair sounds genuinely disgusted, but he soon brightens. "How can I stay angry when I know I'll be seeing you so very soon? What do you think, Dean- ready to pick up where you left off?"

He tries to spit out an insult, but Alastair just squeezes tighter.

"Dean!" Cas is shouting, struggling as hard as he can against Alastair's invisible hold. "Dean!"

 _ **I'm sorry, Cas,**_ Dean manages to think through the fuzziness clouding his mind. His wings have stopped struggling.

 _ **Don't,**_ he gets back.  _ **Dean,**_ **don't.**

The spots of blackness converge to block Dean's vision out altogether and that's it, folks, show's over. Dean's world is nothing but sharp nails at his throat and strangely sweet breath against his face and somewhere, a long way away, the steady drip of water onto a broken Devil's trap.

It takes Dean several seconds to realise that Alastair has let go. His eyes are still unseeing, his entire being still lost somewhere he can't name, and his body gulps in air before his mind catches up. The first thing to come back to him is hearing.

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?" somebody is asking.  _Cas?_  No, Dean doesn't think so. That doesn't  _sound_ like Castiel. The floor is cold beneath Dean's fingers, his head aching from where it hit the ground. Trying to think is like trying to drag his body through treacle.

_**Dean?** _

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" That's Alastair, Dean's sure.

"Yeah. I do."

Nobody's screaming. Why isn't anybody screaming? There's a strange wet gurgling, a kind of choking noise, but that's all. Dean can taste metallic blood against his tongue, a spill of wine to complement the stench pervading the room.

_**Dean?** _

"How are the demons killing angels?"

"It's not us. We're not doing it."

"I don't believe you."

"Lilith isn't behind this," Alastair insists. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. She'd kill a hundred, a thousand."

_**Dean Winchester, if you are there and you aren't replying to me, I will send you back to Hell myself.** _

_**Cas,**_ Dean thinks, his head focusing enough to let him aim the thought at Castiel.  _ **M'here.**_

 _ **Dean,**_ he gets back, accompanied by huge, overwhelmingly intense relief. It fills every inch of Dean, lifts the heavy weight of his bones, a sparkling and renovating release:  _it could have been, but it wasn't._ Dean's never felt anything like it, and it's not even his emotion to feel. His wings twitch behind him, and he finds their return strangely comforting.

"Now I can kill," Dean hears, and he realises who's speaking an instant before the world finally swims back into view. Sam's holding a hand out, Castiel by his side, and now Alastair screams again. Golden light pours from his vessel's eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and he shakes in place as Sam clenches a fist. It takes a hundred years and half a second until Alastair collapses on the floor, dead.

Alastair's dead.

That's too big a thought for Dean to get his head around, and there are a thousand other smaller issues demanding his attention.

 _ **Don't mention me,**_ Dean reminds Cas. He's grateful that he doesn't have to talk out loud, because he doesn't think he  _can._

 _ **I know,**_ Cas says. The reassurance that Dean can feel pouring from him still hasn't stopped; it's only grown stronger since Alastair hit the ground.

"Cas," Sam says, grabbing Cas by the arms and checking him over. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Cas says. "Is he dead?" he asks, looking at Alastair.

"Far as I know," Sam says. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"How did you find me?" Castiel asks tiredly- too tiredly, Dean thinks. Sam lets Cas go and steps back, running a hand through his hair.

"You remember Anna? The psychic? She turned up, all freaked out about something, and told me to come with her right away. I was with Ruby and she said not to go, but Anna said someone was killing angels and that you were in danger, and that we had to go  _now._ I did what she said and she brought me here- she  _teleported_ me, Cas- and when I came in here you were screaming and Alastair was doing  _something_ , I couldn't see what, and all they said was that I had to find out who's been killing angels." Sam looks utterly perplexed. "There are  _angels,_ " he says again, lost.

Castiel regards Sam for a long moment. "I know," he says.

_**Cas-** _

_**I'm not going to give you away. Some credit, please.** _

"You  _know_?" Sam says in disbelief. "Since when?"

Castiel's hesitation is barely noticeable. "About four hours ago," he says. "After we arrived at the motel, an angel appeared and told me I was to go with them. I didn't believe them at first, but they… proved it. I was told the same as you- that somebody had been killing angels, and that I was to find out who."

"Why you?" Sam asks. "Not to be rude, Cas, but you're hardly an expert in torture. Why'd they come to you first?"

"I have no idea," Cas says. "Apparently I'm not on the 'need-to-know' list."

Sam looks confused, curious, but Castiel doesn't flinch.

"Can we leave?" Cas says. "This place is… unpleasant."

Sam's face softens. "Sure. How're you feeling?" he asks carefully, meaningfully.

Castiel doesn't answer. The silver dagger is still clutched loosely in his right hand.

"Cas?" Sam asks again.

"I honestly have no idea," Castiel says. Sam's mouth tightens into a grimace.

"Yeah, I get that. Come on, let's get out of here."

"You guys ready to go?" comes Anna's voice from the doorway. Cas and Sam nod and move forwards to stand on either side of her. Anna makes eye contract with Dean as they place their hands on her shoulders. She gives him a sad little smile, and then all three of them are gone.

Dean looks at the body on the floor. The twisted, mutated face Dean knows too damn well is gone; the man on the floor is just a dead pediatrician, burned out of his own body by Alastair's presence. Dean thinks he'll stay a while. Call it paranoia, but he doesn't trust Alastair to stay dead.

 _ **Are you here?**_ Cas asks.

 _ **No,**_ Dean replies.

_**I think Anna is coming back to you.** _

Sure enough, before Dean can reply, Anna steps into view from nowhere.

 _ **She's here,**_ Dean says. Castiel doesn't reply.

"I'm sorry about Sam," Anna says quietly, after a few long moments have passed. "I wanted to keep him out of this."

Dean doesn't think he can answer without swearing. Anna's shoulders are more slumped now, her face exhausted. He doesn't know whether to feel honoured or concerned that she's dropped her bravado for him.

"I didn't know what Uriel was doing until about an hour ago, when Zachariah started boasting. I found Uriel and I tried to change his mind, but he wouldn't listen. He told me to go and fetch Sam Winchester if I was that worried- so I did," Anna says, chin jutting out defiantly.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure he meant that," Dean says through gritted teeth.

"He didn't, but I happen to like you and Castiel. I wasn't feeling up to watching you die."

"What happened today, Anna?" Dean says angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"How did Alastair get free? Why are Seals still being broken? If Alastair really doesn't know a damn thing about the murders, then who's ganking angels?"

"You think I know?" she shoots back.

"I think you know a hell of a lot more than I do!"

"Then think again, Dean! You think I get told  _anything_? All I know is that this morning, I saw Sadriel's wings burned into the ground. Yesterday it was Guriel and Gurid, the day before Simiel, the day before Bachiel and Ammiel and Paraqlitos."

"Anna-" Dean says, guilt stirring in his chest, but she carries on.

"I loved them as dearly as you love Sam, have loved them like that for  _thousands_  of years, and now they're dead. Gone. I don't even know where angels  _go_ when we die. I don't even know that," she says, with a near-hysterical laugh.

"That's enough," a voice says. Inias' hand comes down firmly on Anna's shoulder, and she twists free, turning to face him.

"And if it's  _not_  'enough', Inias?" she challenges. "If more die?"

"We can talk later," Inias says, his tone soothing but with an edge of desperation to it. "Anna, please."

"What if it's me?" she whispers, and Inias visibly stiffens. Anna scrubs a lock of hair from her eyes, and he reaches out to catch hold of her wrist.

"It won't be," Inias promises her, gently pulling her hand to rest curled against his chest. "It  _won't_."

Anna's eyes are wide and fearful as they flicker over his face, but whatever she finds there seems to calm her. Any other day, Dean would crack some joke about whether or not feathers tickle during sex, but this isn't any other day. Now that the anger's gone he feels almost hollow. Everything inside has been blown away to leave a vacant sort of ache.

"Zachariah wants to talk to you," Inias tells Dean, letting go of Anna's wrist and turning away. She disappears without further comment.

"I don't want to," Dean says bluntly.

"I don't think he was asking," Inias says, not unkindly. "It'll be brief, I promise."

"Whatever," Dean says, raising his head. "Let's get it over and done with." He's been passed from angel to angel, with a brief interlude in the middle for humans and demons, and he just doesn't have the energy to argue right now.

Inias' touch takes them straight to Zachariah. Dean's never seen Zachariah's office before, but he can't say that he's surprised by the look of it. It's all rich wooden panelling and royal blue carpet, with two exquisitely carved chairs placed either side of the huge oak table. Zachariah's lounging in one, and he beckons Dean towards the other.

"Dean!" Zachariah greets. "Sit down."

"I'm okay, thanks," Dean says. Zachariah's smile doesn't falter, but his eyes glint. The stoniness in them lasts for only a split-second before it's smoothly covered up.

"So!" Zachariah claps. "What did you find?"

"It's not demons," Dean grunts.

"Well,  _that's_ a lie," Zachariah says easily.

"I don't believe it is," Inias says quietly. Zachariah glances at him.

"Are you still here?" he complains. "Shoo." He makes a brushing gesture with his hands and Inias disappears- whether by his own will or Zachariah's, Dean isn't sure.

"If not demons, pumpkin, then who?" Zachariah says, like Dean's the biggest idiot he's ever had the misfortune to encounter.

"I don't know," Dean says, "but I'm guessing there's not much that can kill an angel. Am I right?"

"You are. How strange for you."

"I mean, we've got to be talking angels or demons- and, well, it ain't demons."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Zachariah says, his voice measured.

"I guess I just find it strange that Uriel didn't come for us," Dean says, a clearly-fake smile on his face. "I mean, Cas was  _screaming_ for him, and Uriel just… nope. Nada."

"You know, Dean, I have to wonder about you sometimes," Zachariah says, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forwards like a camp counsellor trying to connect with an unruly child. "Here you are, saying all these terribly hurtful things about Uriel, and you still haven't asked the one big question."

Zachariah's words pierce through Dean's bravado in an instant.

"Go on," Zachariah urges. "Get it off your chest."

"is it true?" Dean forces himself to ask. "Did I break the first Seal?"

"Afraid so," Zachariah says. Dean lets his eyes fall away from Zachariah's face, stares unseeingly into empty space.

"Did you know?" he says eventually. "That Alastair was… did you know?"

"Sure," Zachariah says easily. "We figured out Lilith's plan a few weeks after she dragged you down, and- well, we  _would_ have done something about it, but we're disturbingly low on leadership potential. There was talk of fighting our way down and lifting you out, but to be blunt, I'm not sure anybody actually cared enough to get it done."

"You didn't care enough to stop the damn  _Apocalypse?_ " Dean says.

"What can I say? Maybe we thought you'd hold out for a little longer than you did," Zachariah says. He watches Dean's face as he says the words, waiting for a reaction. Dean does everything in his power not to move a muscle.

"Dreary as ever to talk to you, Dean," Zachariah says, leaning back again. Inias reappears by his side.

"Are you alright?" he asks Dean immediately.

"Careful, Inias, or I'll start thinking you don't like me," Zachariah says. "Get him gone. He's told me everything I need to know."

It's a testament to how Dean's feeling that he doesn't even try and respond. Inias taps a hand to Dean's arm and takes him back to Earth.

"You never answered my question," Inias says when they arrive, landing outside the motel Sam and Cas are staying in. "Are you alright?"

"I just found out I jump-started the apocalypse," Dean says tightly. "I'm super."

"Nobody blames you, Dean," Inias says gently.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean rasps, glaring at him. "You should've left me to rot in that pit, Inias, but you dragged me up and made me play house with Alastair all over again, and as if that wasn't enough, you dragged an innocent man into it. Why?"

"You started it, and now you have to stop it."

"Stop  _what_? The apocalypse? Lucifer?  _How?_ "

"I can't tell you. I don't know."

"Bull."

"No, it's not. Anna was… we don't get told much, Dean."

"And you're seriously telling me that's A-Okay with you?" Dean says. "That you don't think there's anything weird going on here? Look me in the eye and tell me you don't have any doubts."

Inias hesitates, he damn well  _hesitates,_ and Dean doesn't miss that.

"I don't have doubts," Inias says. "I have faith in my Father and in my family."

"So did Sadriel," Dean says, plucking a name from Anna's reel at random. Inias visibly flinches, before leaning in close.

"Listen to me," he says, lowering his voice. "You are walking a very, very dangerous path. You've been made allowances because of your origins-"

"Because I'm human?"

"- but that won't protect you forever. If you carry on this way, you will regret it."

"Is that a threat?"

"A  _warning_. I'm worried this might be your last chance. Dean, I'm begging you not to test that theory."

"You know, I  _really_  don't want to be around angels right now," Dean says, brushing past him.

"I'll be in touch," Inias calls after him.

"Don't," Dean replies without breaking step.

* * *

There's blood on Castiel's coat.

He's sitting on the bed with it folded in his hands, looking small and strangely vulnerable. Dean stands nearby and watches him, keeping well out of sight. Sam's with Ruby, and Dean's pretty sure he'll be okay- after all, torturing a demon is kind of Sam's party trick these days. Dean had only meant to stop by briefly, to check that Castiel got back okay, but he can't seem to take his eyes off the blood on that damn coat.

It's not like Cas has never gotten bloody before- it goes with the territory- but this isn't blood spilled in the midst of combat. This is blood that Castiel let out of somebody slowly, systematically, for no reason other than to inflict as much pain as possible. It's different.

 _ **Dean?**_ Cas asks, head still lowered to stare at the fabric. Dean doesn't want to talk to him, but there's something about how fragile Cas seems that means Dean doesn't want to leave him either, and he can't help but think that hanging around and watching Cas in silence is kind of creepy.

 _ **One sec.**_ Dean fazes into existence. Cas raises his head, acknowledges him with a terse nod, and drops his eyes again. It's early morning and Cas has spent a busy night torturing, but somehow Dean doesn't think he'll be sleeping for a while.

"Vinegar's good for that," Dean says after a long, long time has passed. Cas looks at him, and Dean nods towards the coat. "For blood. Just straight vinegar."

"I suppose it makes a change from salt," Cas murmurs. He pushes the coat aside, placing it neatly on the bed beside him. Dean's own clothes never seem to get dirty or messed up; he's wearing the same outfit he died in. It's another throwaway benefit of taking the grace, he guesses- probably more useful than a pet pair of wings.

"What Alastair said…" Cas begins.

"Cas, don't."

"How much was true?"

"I'm telling you, you don't want to know."

"I do."

"You  _don't_ ," Dean snaps.  _Fuck this_. He doesn't need help going over how badly he fucked up, not with fingernail marks on his neck and Alastair's taunts fresh in his head. He's out of here.

"Don't go," Castiel says suddenly, before Dean can so much as move. "Please," he adds, the word clumsy on his tongue.

Dean shakes his head tiredly, but he doesn't go anywhere. "I'm bad news."

"And I'm not?" Castiel counters. "Face it, Dean, I've hardly brought much good luck so far."

"Yeah, well, that ain't your job," Dean says. "Like Alastair said, you're some poor guy who got dragged into Armageddon without any armour. This isn't your war."

"And it's yours?" Castiel says. "Before you were an angel, you were a man- one who hunted and fought and hurt and  _was_ hurt. What makes you think you were any different to me then? That you're any different to me now?"

 _Because you're good_ , Dean wants to say.  _Because_ y _ou're trembling even though you're trying not to show it, and you've been through enough tragedy to make a Lifetime movie producer cream themselves, but somehow you're still_ good.  _The worst thing you've ever done, you did today, because I told you to._

"It was true, Cas," Dean says heavily. "I broke. I held out for thirty years, and then I broke. I picked up a blade, and I started cutting into people, and I broke the first Seal."

Dean waits.

"Did you know?" Cas asks.

"What?" Dean says sharply.

"When you agreed to torture, were you aware that a Seal was being broken?"

"Jesus Christ, Cas,  _no._ I didn't even know what a Seal  _was._ "

"Then how can you blame yourself? Dean, if it was unintentional, how can it be your fault?"

"How can it  _not_? Even if there weren't any Seals, even with all that fucking…  _that_ pushed aside, I hurt people. I spent my life trying to help them, and then I turned around and I hurt them."

"After  _thirty years_ ," Cas stresses.

"It doesn't matter how long I held out for," Dean says bitterly. "I still cracked in the end."

"And there's not a person in this world that could blame you for it."

"How are you not getting this?" Dean shouts.

"What is there to get?" he replies. Cas keeps trying to justify this, to see good where there's nothing but rot, and Dean can't bear it any longer.

Dean  _wants._ He doesn't just  _have_  to be with Cas; he wants it. He wants it in ways he doesn't know how to accept, much less verbalise. He wants it in ways that he'll never suggest, because he has a terrible, wonderful feeling that Cas might just want the same thing, and Dean doesn't trust himself say 'no'.

This game they're playing could prove fatal- the way they act like good intentions cancel out bad actions, like the wings on Dean's back aren't dripping with spilled blood- and Cas needs to understand just whose skin he's gotten under. They're too close as it is, and there are times when Dean  _knows_ they're only a hair's breadth away from something even more dangerous. They're teetering on another edge and if there's even a shrapnel, even a salt-grain of goodness left somewhere in Dean's soul, he won't let himself pull Cas over it.

"I don't feel guilty, Cas," Dean spits, and there's no taking it back now. He's admitted it, laid it out on the table, and there's no way of sucking the words back in and pretending they never found their way out. "I don't. I did terrible things and I remember that they felt good- it felt  _good_ to hurt people, Cas, I fucking  _liked_  it- but it doesn't feel good to think of now. It doesn't feel  _anything."_

Castiel doesn't speak, so Dean tunes into his emotions instead. He's expecting disgust, revulsion, maybe fear- but he doesn't find it. He finds shock, yes, and… sadness. Cas feels bad  _for_ Dean. It's so backwards that it almost makes Dean sick. Cas should be keeping Dean at arm's length, not smiling at him like he's special and staying up until four o'clock in the morning just to listen to him talk.

"Happy?" Dean shouts. "I spent ten years of my life doing exactly what you did today, and I couldn't care less.  _That's_ why we're different. There's your friggin' angel, Cas."

"And before?" Cas asks calmly. Dean has no idea what he means.

"What?"

"The thirty years of torture. What do you feel when you think of them?"

"Nothing," Dean says, with an air of 'what's your point?'.

"No fear? Rage? Sadness?"

"Guess that's just how screwed up I am," Dean says with a self-loathing smile.

" _Alternatively,_ " Cas cuts in sharply, "that's an indication that things aren't as straightforward as they seem."

"What do you mean?"

"What made you agree to do this again? To torture Alastair?"

Dean's decided to go along with Cas' twists and turns, to give up trying to follow whatever strange path he's carving. "Uriel said that if I refused, he'd make you or Sam do it alone," he says, starting to pace across the floor.

"And?"

"You couldn't handle it," Dean says. "You'd crumble in seconds."

"And?"

" _And_? Cas, what happened today was already- if I'd have made you do it alone-"

"You feel guilty," Cas cuts him off. "For what happened today."

"Obviously," Dean says, because it  _is_ obvious. He's got a pretty long list of regrets- a list that he doesn't seem in any hurry to stop adding to- but he doesn't think the pain of today will fade for a very, very long time. He doesn't particularly want it to. He deserves to hurt.

"But that doesn't change anything," Dean continues. "I still don't feel anything when I remember the Pit _._ "

"Yes, and I'm convinced that's because someone doesn't  _want_  you to feel anything."

That grabs Dean's attention. His pacing slows, and then stops.

"Honestly?" he says warily, both wanting and not wanting to believe.

"Completely and totally," Cas says, and Dean knows that he isn't lying. "You feel nothing over Hell, but you feel fear and distress and guilt- misplaced though it is- as you did before. You can't tell me that doesn't sound suspicious to you. Thirty years of torture isn't something you can just repress, Dean."

Dean steps forward without permission from the conscious part of his brain. Cas remains seated, calm, as Dean moves to stand straight in front of him.

"How come you have so much faith in me?" Dean murmurs in disbelief. Cas holds Dean's gaze without a flicker of discomfort.

"Because you are a good man, and one of the first good things to happen to me in my life," Castiel replies simply. That throws Dean, jams the cogs in his brain and cuts him off mid-thought, mid-breath. He recovers as best he can.

"Yeah, well your life's hardly been sunshine and roses," he says, making light of it. "In fact," he continues, sitting down next to Castiel on the bed, "while we're sharing and caring, your turn."

"My turn to what?"

"Tell your story," Dean says. "The life and times of Castiel."

"You want to know about Brightwood," Castiel says flatly. He starts to tug at one of his sleeves, not looking at Dean.

"I want to stay out of my own head for a little while," Dean replies. He misses the days when he could go into a store and come out with enough whiskey to put the pain on pause. He  _could_ ask Cas for assistance, but Sam's made one or two comments about how Dean 'sometimes drank too much when things were getting rough', and Dean's pretty sure he'd have better luck trying to buy the damn stuff himself.

"I doubt my head will be much respite," Castiel snorts.

"I started the apocalypse, Cas. That's kinda hard to top."

Castiel shoots him a brief ' _do I need to tell you again?'_ glare, but yields.

"My parents didn't think they could conceive," Cas begins. "My mother was thirty-five when she had me, and they'd been trying since she was twenty-one."

"Talk about miracle kids, huh?" Dean whistles.

"They certainly thought so," Castiel says. "They were very devout, my mother in particular. They deserved better than what they got."

"Cas?" Dean says in concern. It doesn't take much effort to sense the heavy guilt shrouding Castiel.

"I was… a disturbed child," Castiel says. "I was prescribed every anti-anxiety drug there is in near alphabetic order, but nothing helped. By the time I was nine, anxiety had given way to full-blown delusions. I would talk of… things, of terrible things. Of the devil and the end of the world, of angels and of God. It was near blasphemy. My parents had no idea what to do. They took me to doctors, to psychiatrists- to an exorcist," Cas adds, like it's no different, "but nothing worked."

"And that's why you were admitted?" Dean says, feeling a little sick.

"They thought I was getting better," Cas says, staring into space. "I was still unstable- I had to have a home tutor because I wasn't able to cope with school- but the delusions were easing. Even my anxiety was getting better. For the first time I could remember, I wasn't scared."

Dean moves closer. He shifts a little closer, letting his leg press against Castiel's in what he hopes is a grounding presence.

"One day, my parents went out. I'd never been left alone before, but I was doing well, and they felt it would be a good step forward. They were only gone for an hour." Cas takes a deep breath. "When they returned, they came up to my room and found it destroyed. I had turned over the furniture, thrown things from shelves, even shattered the window. My arms… I had cut my wrists open and drawn on the walls with my own blood, strange shapes and handprints. I was rushed to hospital for my injuries- I lost a lot of blood- and once they stabilised me I was transferred to Brightwood."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean murmurs.

"Physically, I was fine, but it took several years for them to stabilise me mentally," Castiel says, focusing on finishing the story. "The delusions returned and brought hallucinations with them. I would try and run away whenever I was left unsupervised- I escaped seventeen times in two years. I was placed on a heavy regime of medication but it did very little- I experienced many of the side effects, but none of the actual  _effects._ Two years after I was admitted, my mother killed herself. She was already unstable, and I think the stress was too much for her. My father didn't visit after that."

"Never?" When Dean's mom died, a part of his father died too- but John never left them altogether, not like that. He can't even begin to imagine how Cas must have felt.

"I don't think so, but it's hard to know. The memories are murky, unclear- that is, until the day it all stopped."

"The  _day_?" Dean questions.

"March 4th, 1996. It was a Thursday," Cas says wistfully. Dean guesses that a day like that isn't easily forgotten.

"I still heard voices on occasion," Cas admits, "but they were easier to ignore. The delusions and anxiety disappeared completely. I remembered very little of what had happened before- most of what I know now about my childhood comes from others telling me about it."

"And what did the doctors say, when you randomly pulled a 180 and turned into the picture of good health?"

"Nothing," Castiel says. "I never had another doctor's appointment. I never had another therapy session. All the staff would tell me was that I couldn't leave."

"Cas, that's… that wasn't right," Dean says, shaking his head. "They can't  _do_ that."

"Maybe not, but it didn't seem worth fighting. I had no mother, I hadn't seen my father in years… I stayed. I couldn't remember a time when I hadn't lived in the hospital. I was content to live and die there."

"Until I showed," Dean says glumly.

"Until you showed," Castiel agrees. He doesn't sound as bitter about it as Dean does. In fact, he looks at Dean with utter awe in his eyes, with  _adoration,_ and he smiles like Dean pulled him from a burning building rather than pushing him deeper into the fire.

Dean doesn't know when he stopped thinking of Cas as a ward and started thinking of him as a friend, and he  _really_  doesn't know when it moved past that. If, ten or twenty years ago, you'd asked Dean how he envisioned his life going, he's pretty sure he couldn't have guessed it would begin to revolve around a man in a trench coat with eyes so blue they render oceans colourless; a man who's stepped straight out of  _A Beautiful Mind_ with extra plot holes injected, dumping even more contradictions and complications onto the crap-pile of confusion that  _is_ Dean's life.

Cas has a smile he only gives to people he trusts, and trust he gives to Dean without question. No matter how much evidence Dean provides otherwise, Cas is eternally,  _infuriatingly_ stubborn in his insistence that Dean is something worth believing in.

Dean tries not to think about that, because the implications are terrifying. There are broken blades of guilt sewn under Dean's skin, razors that rip into him if he so much as dares to  _think_ that he and Cas could ever be more than this. It would be worse than taking advantage, worse than dragging Cas into something he shouldn't be involved in- no, denial is easier. Denial is  _safer._

Then again, denial can only get you so far.

Dean turns and Cas does the same, bringing them to sit face-to-face.

"I'm assuming you think I'm insane," Castiel says matter-of-factly, but Dean doesn't have to delve very deep at all to tell it's an act: Cas cares what Dean thinks. He cares a  _lot._

"Yeah, well you know what they say about assuming," Dean says, and Cas tilts his head in confusion. "Doesn't matter," Dean dismisses. "All I mean is, you're wrong."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Mostly I'm thinking how badass you are for making it through all that in one piece."

Castiel looks at him in astonishment, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it again. The confusion that Dean can feel bubbling from him is mixed with the occasional bloom of hope, and it's enough to make Dean's heart hurt.

"What you did today," Dean continues, his voice cracking, "with Alastair. You shouldn't have had to do that."

"Neither should you," Castiel says equally.

"I mean it. I'm sorry."

" _Dean_ ," Cas says, and Dean is suddenly overwhelmingly, achingly aware of how close Cas is. Even with Castiel's usual disregard for personal space taken into account, they're close. Dean can feel soft, hot breath against his own lips and when he looks up, Cas' eyes are inches from his own. They're still that bright,  _ludicrously_ bright blue, and they're full of nothing but Dean.

Dean thinks he sees those eyes start to close, thinks that Cas starts to lean in, but he can't be sure.

He hasn't even  _blinked_ but the entire room has changed, gone, and Cas has gone with it.  _Did I just get cockblocked by Heaven?_ That's a new one, even for Dean. When he reaches out, feeling for Cas' presence, there's nothing at the other end. Dean's wings are heavy and unmoving against his back, though, so he'd hazard a guess that his powers are blocked. That unnerves him.

He doesn't know where he is. Heaven, he guesses, but it's not a motel room, or the Impala, or anywhere he's been before in his life. It's a blank, white square, with no furniture or windows.

"Dean." The angel that materialises in the centre of the room has dark skin, a grave expression and an expensive suit. Dean doesn't recognise  _him_ either. Dean tends to get pissed off when he doesn't know what's going on, and that's on a  _good_ day. He doesn't have time for whatever bullshit Heaven's pulling now.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean snaps.

"My name is Raphael," the angel replies.  _Archangel,_ something whispers in Dean's mind. He starts to take the situation a little more seriously.

"What am I doing here?"

"Sit down," Raphael advises, waving a hand and conjuring two chairs. They're huge, lavish looking things, and they're almost comical against the room's clinical whiteness. Dean remembers Zachariah's office and thinks he sees a trend in the furniture choices of Heaven's higher ups. Dean feels ridiculous in the throne-like chair, a little boy with a paper crown falling over his eyes. Raphael, in contrast, looks perfectly at home.

"We have a problem," Raphael announces.

"I'm telling you, Alastair said it wasn't demons. I don't know what else-"

" _Not_  that," Raphael cuts in smoothly. "The problem, Dean, is you."

Dean blinks. "Me? What did I do?"

Raphael's eyes are steely and his smile doesn't meet them.

"Your recent behaviour has given us cause for concern. Your disturbing accusations, your lack of respect for us- and that's just whilst in Heaven _._ On Earth, the situation is even more grim."

"What, because I eat a burger every once in a while? Because I like to check in on my kid brother?"

"Whilst you do use dreamwalking for inappropriate purposes," Raphael says, "no. We feel that you have been getting too close to the human in your charge."

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. "I'm a guardian angel," he says in disbelief. "It's my job."

" _Guarding_ is your job," Raphael corrects icily. "You are an angel, Dean, not a human. Your loyalty is to Heaven, not the human we assigned you. You seem to forget that."

Usually, Dean would enthusiastically encourage Raphael to go and fuck himself, but something is stopping him. There's a feeling in the air, a kind of sobriety, and every warning Anna and Inias have ever delivered come flooding to mind. Dean finds that he's sweating, that his pulse is speeding up of its own accord. He swallows, his mouth dry.

"I get it," he says, "I fucked up. It won't happen again."

"No," Raphael says. "I shouldn't think so." He rises from the chair. "You lack discipline, Dean. It's nothing that can't be fixed- but you do understand that it  _must_ be fixed." He tilts his head towards Dean with a significant look.

Dean starts to rise from his chair, not really understanding but with an objection already forming on his lips. Raphael's smile finally meets his eyes as the chairs disappear and the world transforms around them. It's only then Dean realises that the room doesn't have- never had- a door.

* * *

Afterwards, Inias is given the job of returning Dean to Earth.

"On Earth, it's been five days since you left," Inias informs him when they arrive, landing on the pavement by a grungy motel. He can't seem to bring himself to look at Dean.

Dean nods to show he has understood. He gives only the briefest thought to the events of the previous 'five days'. Heaven, he reflects dully, can be significantly more creative than Hell.

But really, it's all very simple. Dean was wrong, but now he's right. He was bad, but now he's good. Inias leaves without a word, and Dean teleports into the motel to do what matters most: his duty.


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the usual deal with the playlist- the next three songs are available [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2).  
> TRIGGER WARNING: whilst this chapter remains T rated, there are allusions to and scenes reminiscent of rape.  
> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You guys make editing a 53 page document on a Sunday evening worthwhile.

_But oh, my heart was flawed,_  
 _I knew my weakness_  
 _So hold my hand_  
 _Consign me not to darkness._

_\- Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons_

* * *

Dean stays incorporeal. He finds Castiel in the cramped bathroom, bandaging his arm over the sink. Dean considers intervening, but the wound isn't life-threatening, and it seems pointless to get involved where he isn't needed. He lets Castiel handle it himself, noting that it takes him two attempts to tie the knot correctly.

Dean wonders what to do next. He could enter a trance state to pass the time, but he's only just gotten back. Dean watches Castiel run the tap and wet hunks of scratchy motel toilet paper, using it to scrub the blood from his hands. Once most is gone he lies back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Castiel and Sam have booked separate rooms again, and Castiel remains silent and stationary from 9:12PM to 1:37AM. Dean can feel the distress emanating from Castiel, a steady pulse of worry and fear. Anna told him, a very long time ago, that the role of a guardian was to provide support for their ward. Raphael had suggested that, in Dean's case, this advice was not to be taken. Dean pulls himself back from Castiel's thoughts and continues his silent vigil.

 _ **Dean,**_ Castiel says eventually.  _ **If you're there, please just let me know.**_

Dean considers this. It seems a harmless enough request.

 _ **I'm here,**_ Dean says, and Castiel's eyes snap open. He scrabbles to his feet, looking around the room eagerly.

"Dean?"

 _ **Yeah?**_ Dean says.

"Where are you?" Castiel says.

_**In the room.** _

"Show me," Castiel insists. Dean does so, dropping down into plain sight.

"Dean," Castiel breathes in relief, approaching him. He stops a few steps short from Dean, who's standing motionless, arms by his sides. "Where have you  _been_?" he says with sudden anger.

"Heaven," Dean says brusquely.

"Why?"

"Nothing you need to know about."

Castiel takes another step forwards, tilting his head and scrutinising Dean. "What happened?" he says. "The truth, Dean."

"I was reminded of some things I'd forgotten," Dean says tartly.

"Like what?"

"Like where my loyalties should lie."

"Meaning?"

"I serve Heaven, Castiel. I don't serve humans, and I sure as hell don't serve you." His words are harsh, and Castiel flinches when he hears them. It doesn't matter; Castiel needs to understand. There are a few seconds of silence before Castiel replies.

"Does time move differently in Heaven?" he asks cautiously.

"It can," Dean answers coolly.

"How long were you there for?"

"I think it was around two years," Dean says. He doesn't understand the punch of grief the phrase elicits from Castiel. Yes, it's rare for an angel to spend  _that_ long in discipline- but it's rare for an angel to have built up the kind of resistance to torture that Dean has. Heaven kept him no longer than was necessary.

"And did they torture you?" Castiel asks, his voice sharp.

" _Discipline_ ," Dean corrects. "Nothing less than I deserved."

"Stop it. Whatever they've made you believe, it's not true."

"They haven't  _made_  me believe anything," Dean objects hotly, but Castiel's shaking his head.

"Five days ago, you left without a word, and now you reappear, and you're different. You've changed."

"Good," Dean says firmly. "This is how I should be."

"No, it isn't," Castiel says. "Who you  _should_ be is Dean Winchester, and right now, you are not him."

Dean doesn't think an answer to that comment is necessary. "Did you want something?" he says instead.

"I want you to be okay. I don't know if you are."

Dean's better than okay; he's the best he's ever been. The things that used to collect on the edges of his fraying soul and drag it down, lengthening the tears along the fault lines, now slip off with nothing to latch onto. He's cleansed, pure, a stone flushed clean by constantly running water.

Dean looks at Castiel, preparing to tell him as much- but there's a sadness in Castiel's eyes, along with a sensation that can only be described as  _loss_ lapping against Dean's grace. Dean finds that, somehow, his words stick in his mouth. Sadness is not damage; sadness is not danger. There is no reason to respond to sadness as anything other than a fleeting human indulgence, and yet Dean finds it feels… significant. It's disturbing.

"What do you want me to do?" Dean asks, revising the question to a more appropriate format. He needs to focus on actions, not on emotions- fix the problem, then leave. That's the correct way to do things.

"I don't know," Castiel says. Dean's path is unclear, and that makes him anxious. He forces himself to remain calm, and tries to recall what to do in situations where confusion or conflicts arise. Remembering the answer is a strangely bittersweet relief.

"Then I'll go," Dean says, and he vanishes from sight before Castiel can question it.

* * *

Dean remains in the trance state until, some time later, he feels something tugging insistently at the corner of his mind. He lets himself resurface, uncurling from the home he's carved in the cave of nothingness. The location of the trance state, wherever it may be, is a relaxing place.

Light fills Dean's eyes as his wings stir behind him, ready for action- but the motel room he finds himself in is empty.

 _ **Dean?**_ Castiel asks.

 _ **Yes?**_ Dean replies. Relief rolls towards Dean, the source clearly external, and he frowns before teleporting to Castiel's side. Dean finds himself in yet another motel, distinguishable from the previous only by the positions of the stains on the wallpaper.

Castiel doesn't seem to be in need of any help, so Dean's not sure why the communication would bring his ward comfort, but it doesn't seem worth investigating.

"Are you here?" Castiel asks out loud. He's alone, so Dean materialises.

"Hello, Castiel," Dean says, and dulled surprise thrums through him when Castiel snorts with bitter-sounding laughter.

"You don't even  _sound_ like you," Castiel says.

"Sorry," Dean finds himself saying before he can really think it through.

"For what?"

"You're unhappy," Dean states.

"And you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you happy? Honestly?"

Dean considers this. "I don't know," he answers truthfully. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean, it doesn't  _matter_?" Castiel says. He sounds like Dean's words have disturbed him, like he can't even begin to conceive how anything could matter more.

"Why would it? I'm not here to think about things like that. I'm here to do my job."

"Strange," Castiel says icily, "because you knew how to be happy or sad before, and you still did your job well."

"No, I didn't," Dean says, wings stirring behind him. Castiel's eyes flicker to them, and Dean hopes that whatever he can see is enough to remind him of what Dean truly is. If not, Dean will have to do it himself. "I was selfish, and I was stupid. I'm an  _angel_ , but I was acting like a man."

"You  _are_ a man, Dean," Castiel says. He moves even closer, the flat disgust in his eyes washed away by a fierce light. "You were human once, and you told me you're half human still. You do human things. You love your car, and burgers, and quoting from the movies you make me watch."

The words mean nothing to Dean. "That was then. That's all gone now."

"No," Cas says resolutely. "Not all of it. What about your brother? You care for Sam, you went to  _Hell_  for Sam."

"Exactly," Dean says easily, because he's prepared for this one, was taught the answer again and again until he understood it. "I loved Sam, and you know what happened? I made a deal with a  _demon._ I died, and I went to Hell, and I broke the first Seal.  _That's_  where Sam lead me, to the end of the damn world. But the angels? They pulled me from Hell. They're fighting to stop the apocalypse, to make things better. Because of Sam, I died. Because of Heaven, I'm alive."

"Oh, my friend," Castiel murmurs, quiet and sad. "You're broken in ways I didn't know possible."

"I'm not your friend," Dean snaps, shirking away from him. "I'm your guardian. That's it."

"No," Castiel says. "That's not true. You can stand there and spit out the lines Heaven drilled into you, but I know that you don't mean them."

Dean knows he shouldn't let this get under his skin- he is better than that, he is  _better than this-_ but Castiel looks at Dean like he knows things Dean doesn't. He speaks with such conviction that his words, wrong though they may be, burrow into Dean's mind and are difficult to shake free.

"You don't know a damn thing," Dean spits.

"I know you," Castiel snaps back. "I know you love your brother, and that you could no more stop loving him than you could stop the Earth spinning. I heard the pain in your voice when Sam walked into that hospital room, and I know how many hours you've spent watching and following him. I know it tore you apart when you couldn't be there for him any more."

"Castiel, stop it," Dean says tightly, but Castiel presses on, relentless.

"Do you remember when you told me about the Seals? When you swore to stop treating me like a child? I do. I remember watching the understanding dawn in your eyes when you heard me speak, when you realised I was  _there._ That was the first day you treated me like your equal, and this is the first day since that you've done anything else. You can claim to be here as a guardian and nothing more, but we both know that's a lie."

Castiel won't back off, won't grant Dean a moment's respite, and Dean can feel something within him starting to break.  _No, there's nothing there to break. They fixed me, they took the badness away, they carved it right out._ Then why does it feel more like it was just plastered over?

"You're asking me to forget what I was taught," Dean says tightly, "and I can't do that."

"When they called you back to Heaven," Castiel continues without even breaking stride, "when they pulled you away without asking first, we were midway through a conversation. You had found out about the first Seal, and you told me about Hell, and I didn't judge you. And I had told you my history, who I am and who I was, and you didn't judge me."

"It doesn't  _matter_ ," Dean says, and it comes out as a near-groan. Something lurches inside Dean, and a spear of ice-cold fear pierces through his chest. Raphael warned him about this, prepared him for it, and Dean knows what will happen if he doesn't remain in control. "That was then, okay? This is now. I'm an  _angel_. I belong to Heaven, they make the rules."

"No," Castiel says firmly, "they don't. You are not Heaven's, Dean."

He moves even closer, close enough to speak the words into Dean's ear, low and meant for nobody but him. "You are mine."

It's too close to treason, too traitorous, too against what he's been taught. Dean turns away but Castiel clamps hands on his shoulders, pulls Dean back to face him.

"Look at me," he says. "Dean,  _look_."

Dean forces himself to hold the gaze to prove that he can, but there's something about the sight of Castiel, about the shape of his lips and the look in his eyes, that makes something familiar flip in Dean's stomach. Dean looks away as quickly as he can.

"I can't," Dean says hoarsely.

" _Dean_ ," Cas says again, and he trails the back of his knuckles against Dean's hand. The touch sends a jolt down Dean's spine as the fissure inside him finally bursts open.

* * *

_It reeks, the air reeks, of blood and ash and sulphur and decay._

" _Dean?" a loud, powerful voice says._

_Blood drips and he can't stop it, blood falling into Sam's mouth, and Dean can't take a single step._

" _Watch, Dean. You need to watch."_

_The fire at their feet is spreading, catching, feeding off the curtains and the carpet and his skin. He can't move, can't even scream, every muscle turned to stone._

" _You see, Dean? You see what happens to the people you try and protect?"_

_The baby in the crib has gone- Sam is a man now, a man standing in the fire, the flames licking the flesh from his cheeks to fall away in sweating black lumps._

" _Do you see how useless you are, Dean? How weak you are when you stand alone? If you're so powerful, so above us, then save them."_

_Not just Sam but Castiel too, both of them burning, crying, shouting Dean's name over and over again, but he can't do anything, can't even scream, can only watch as his own flesh chars and blisters in the heat._

" _If you were noble, Dean, you would help them. If you were strong, you would save them. But you are not, and so you will watch them die. Again."_

_All he knows is pain and burning and screaming- Sam's screaming, Cas' screaming, and that ever-present voice, booming over them all._

" _This is fate, Dean. This is what will happen if you work against us. Watch, now. Watch."_

_And he does; he watches them burn, watches until his eyes bubble and melt and drip down his cheeks._

* * *

When Dean wakes up, he's in Heaven.

He finds himself sitting on the floor, propped up against the legs of a bed. His wings are crushed between his back and the frame, so he shuffles forwards a little to let them spread out. He's facing a blank wall, and he's not alone for long before he hears a familiar rustling sound.

"Was I called back here?" Dean asks. It would make sense if they brought him back up for further discipline. Fuck, if it'll fix things, then that's what Dean  _wants._

He'd been fine. He'd been  _good._ He'd felt like someone new, like something shiny and clean and straight out of the box. Now, he feels like himself again- his soul feels scarred and tattered, his thoughts coarse and unrefined. If more discipline can take all that away, can give him back what Heaven provided, then he'll take it in a heartbeat.

"No," Anna says, shaking her head. "Completely voluntary. I'm guessing you bolted."

"I don't even remember getting here," Dean says, frowning as he tries to remember. The only emotion bothering him now is guilt for screwing up, for letting his emotions affect him. Dean can't help but think, more than a little bitterly, that the only thing that's ever really changed in his life is exactly who he's letting down.

"Yeah, well, you were pretty far gone," Anna grimaces. She settles down next to him, stretching out her vessel's legs in front of her. "What did you do?"

"Castiel was talking to me," Dean says, searching clumsily for the memories. "About when I was human, and how I was before Heaven fixed me."

"And that was enough to…?" Anna says, waving her hand in a gesture of 'you know what I mean'.

"I was remembering things," Dean says, "feeling things that Heaven taught me aren't right. Yeah, it was enough."

"I hate this system, you know," Anna says with feeling. "I've complained to Zachariah who knows how many times. Blocking emotions from Hell is one thing, but this? Our Father wouldn't want this." Anna falls quiet.

"Is it strange?" she asks after a few minutes. "To remember things and not feel anything about them?"

"Yeah," he admits. "When I think of what I've done- and we're talking nasty,  _evil_  things here- I don't feel guilty. I don't feel a damn thing. I thought I was turning into a psychopath."

"I understand, but it honestly is necessary for most guardians," Annna says. "Nearly all come from Hell, and most have been through so much that if we  _didn't_ strip the emotion from their memories of torture, they'd be dribbling wrecks."

"Same thing for disciplined angels, right?"

Anna exhales. "Yes."

This isn't news to Dean; Raphael had been very clear in his explanation.

"I know you sometimes fail to grasp things, Dean," he had said, "so I want to spell this out for you. We're on your side. You know that now, don't you?"

"Yes," Dean had replied, keeping his head lowered, eyes on the ground. "I know."

"Good. And because of that, we're going to do something to your memories of your time here. Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous- all we're going to do is desensitise you to them. You'll still be able to remember everything that happened, but any emotional response will be blocked, just as we've done previously with your memories of Hell. Consider it a sign of our trust in you; our faith that you can turn things around."

"I will," he had whispered. "I'll do better."

"Good," Raphael had said again. "But we can't put  _too_ much trust in you, can we? Not when you still carry the stain of humanity within your soul. You're not infallible. That's why we have precautions in place, for your own good. If you begin to have blasphemous thoughts regarding Heaven again- if you even  _consider_  disobeying us- the full emotional repercussion of your time here will immediately become apparent to you. It will not be pleasant, but it will pass as soon as you have righted whatever wrong triggered it. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Dean had answered. And when Inias took him back, he had been utterly sure in his conviction that the safeguard wouldn't be necessary. He had failed in following his birth father's orders- failed nearly everything in life, actually- but this, he would do right.

And then Castiel's skin had touched his and Dean had somehow forgotten it all.

"Two  _years_ , Anna," he says. "Two friggin' years, and he took it apart in less than two days."

"I wish I knew what to tell you," she says.

"Tell me what to do _,_ " he says, looking at her with hunted eyes. "Tell me what's right, and I'll do it."

"It's not that easy," she says. "Raphael spent two years turning you into his version of 'right', and you're already cracking the paintwork."

Anna shifts in place and takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her words are slower, more considered.

"I  _can_ tell you that keeping an open mind isn't disobedience," she says, "and neither is saying what you think." Dean gets the impression that this section of her speech isn't exactly from the 'Dealing With Malfunctioning Guardians' manual. He doesn't know how to feel about that, so he just sits and listens.

"And neither," Anna continues, more gently, "is liking somebody."

"It doesn't matter, Anna," Dean says. "It's not happening."

"Why not?"

"It's  _wrong,_ that's why. Treating Castiel as anything other than my ward is wrong. I serve Heaven, and I'm not going to let my crap put everything we've worked for at risk."

"So it's 'we' now?" Anna says, arching an eyebrow. Dean doesn't understand what she's getting at.

"Obviously," he says. "I'm a guardian angel. I might not be a member of the Host, but I know my place. I know where I belong, and that's not with a human."

Anna nods, biting her lip. "Good. That's… good." Her fingers drum out a pattern on the carpet. She looks to be on the verge of saying something else, but it takes her a full ten seconds to get it out.

"Except," Anna begins, "I don't really see why being with Castiel means you can't serve Heaven."

"Divided loyalties, for one," Dean says impatiently. He wishes Anna would drop this. All he wants is some advice on how to stay on track, maybe some orders about how he should be behaving, and then everything will be okay. Talking about things that will never happen is a waste of their time.

"What, Cas is going to start ordering you around?" Anna snorts. "I don't think so. Getting involved with your ward isn't exactly run-of-the-mill, but is it going against Heaven?" Anna screws her face up. "I don't know. It's not my call to make."

"Raphael said to stay away," Dean insists. "From Cas  _and_ from Sam."

"Did he? As a direct order?"

"Yes," Dean says- and then, under the scrutiny of her glare, falters. "Kind of. He ordered me to put Heaven first."

"Which I'm sure you'll still do. The Host… I won't lie to you, they won't encourage it. They certainly won't like it. But as long as you follow your orders- and I probably shouldn't tell you this- I don't think they'll do anything."

Dean absorbs the information in silence.

Looking at it objectively, the way he was viewing Castiel was… disturbing. Dean would look at Castiel and think, bizarrely, of concertina-folded piece of paper- each opened flap revealing something new, something colourful or beautiful or bright. Dean would think of how he wanted to be the one to peel back the flaps that Castiel had long-ago superglued shut. Dean had seen gaps in Castiel's life that, sickeningly, he'd hoped  _he_ could try and fill; Dean had believed Castiel had already done that much for him. The way Dean viewed Cas was less 'you are mine to protect' and more 'you are  _mine'._

It's only now that Dean can see how fucking  _crazy_ that was. He feels ashamed to even think about it. Castiel is neither Dean's saviour nor his soul mate. He's a human- Dean's ward- and that's all.

"It doesn't change anything," Dean says. "I'm keeping my distance, okay? It's for the best."

"Okay," Anna replies easily, and somehow the simple acknowledgement throws Dean. He grasps around for one of the points he was going to make, fails to find any, and takes a new angle instead.

"You know, you make it sound like the crap Cas said was no big deal," Dean complains. "If that's true, then how come I had the biggest freak out since Britney shaved her head?"

"Discipline has… after-effects," Anna says. "One is forgetting who you are. Remembering can be distressing, to say the least. You thought that was rebellion, but it wasn't- false alarm. Now that you understand that, what happened today shouldn't happen again, so long as you keep on doing what you're told."

"Okay," he nods. "Good. As long as I'm not screwing up."

Anna looks hesitant. That can't be a good sign. "The conviction you're feeling right now?" she says. "That intense,  _intense_ loyalty to Heaven? That's another after-effect. That'll fade too. Pretty quickly, actually."

"It won't," Dean says immediately. "No way."

"All discipline does is stop you from actually rebelling. It's like giving an unruly dog a shock collar, that's all. If you don't want to spend half of your time curled up in a ball, feeling like crap, you're going to have to put some effort in."

"But I  _get_ it, Anna," Dean says. "I know I was wrong. I was so,  _so_ friggin' wrong, but I'm better now."

Anna seems uncomfortable. "Do you know why Zachariah told on you to Raphael?" she says. "Why he got you pulled up for discipline in the first place?"

"I made up crap about Uriel that wasn't true," Dean says. "And before that, I-"

"No, that's not what I meant. What I meant is why should they care? They're all powerful, and you're at  _cherub_  status. Why should it make a difference what you think?"

It's a good question, and one Anna answers herself.

"You scare them, Dean," she says. "The archangels and the seraphs and most of the angels too, because you're different. Angels are cookie-cutter warriors; the same creature xeroxed a few thousand times over. We're not supposed to think. We're not supposed to question, or doubt, or  _want._ Most guardians are so grateful to be out of Hell that they fall straight into that mould- I've known some forget they were ever human at all- but you went ahead and did the exact opposite. Maybe it was Sam, maybe it was Cas, maybe it was just  _you_. Reasoning aside, you didn't do what Heaven expected you to- and, in case you hadn't noticed, they don't exactly encourage independent thinking."

"I told you, I've  _changed_ ," he says agitatedly, and she actually rolls her eyes.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," she says. "We need people like you, Dean. Whatever Raphael told you-"

"Don't finish that sentence," he says, because if she's about to go against Raphael, about to blaspheme, Dean doesn't know what he'll do. Anna considers this and gives a slight nod. They stay silent a while longer, sitting side-by-side and staring at the wall.

"So you're saying I'll fuck this up too?" Dean says flatly.

"That's not fair," Anna argues. "I'm warning you, that's all. I handle the guardians, remember? Trust me, Dean, I've had this conversation far too many times."

Dean pictures Anna crouching by the side of ten, twenty, one hundred desperately weeping once-humans, trying to explain that what they're going through is normal, trying to hold their pieces in place while the glue dries. Necessary as it is, it can't be a fun job.

"Yeah, but I'm kind of difficult," Dean points out.

"True," Anna admits. "Angels aren't exactly encouraged to do the whole 'romance' thing, but that doesn't mean we can't try."

"Thanks for the reassurance," he mutters. Anna ignores him, caught up in some thought or other.

"You know, it's funny," she muses. "Angels are creatures of war, and sometimes I think that means we forget the most important thing our Father taught us: to love. Loving isn't disobeying, Dean. It's the opposite."

"Who said anything about  _loving_?" Dean argues. "What makes you think I even want that?"

Anna fixes him with the most disbelieving expression he's ever seen. "Dean, look around you. Where are we?"

"Heaven," he answers. "That doesn't-"

"No,  _where_? What do you see?"

From his position on the floor, all Dean can see is the wall, painted the supposedly 'soothing' cream colour of four million crappy motels. Dean turns around, and when he realises where he is, all the air leaves him in one go. It's an uncomfortable reminder of the tangled mess of sentiment and nostalgia that's going to drip slowly back into Dean, but he doesn't have the time to focus on that right now.

"Oh," he says limply.

"Answer your question?" Anna says as Dean looks around the bedroom. The window is made of protective non-shatter glass, with alarm buttons by the bed and any sharp corners filed down. There's an armchair by the window, a book resting on the arm, and sitting on the bedside table is a small, black Bible.

"I think it's time you went back," Anna says gently. "Don't you?"

* * *

When Dean arrives, it's morning; Anna thought it would be best to give the two of them some time apart to 'cool off'. Castiel's in the same motel room as before- sitting on the sofa, drinking a cup of instant coffee. Dean takes a few seconds to remind himself of his goals: protect his ward, put Heaven first, don't do anything inappropriate. As long as he remembers those guidelines, this should be simple.

 _ **Dude, tell me you slept,**_ Dean says. Cas exhales.

 _ **Hello,**_ he says warily. Dean slips into solidity, drops down heavily next to Cas on the sofa.

"Don't," Dean says, before Cas can say anything else. "It's not worth it. Seriously."

"You've been gone for six hours," Cas informs him absently, blowing on his coffee.

"Trouble readjusting to life below the clouds, that's all," Dean says, forcing a grin. He's not going to try and explain the discipline process to a human, and he's  _definitely_ not not going to bring up any of Anna's suggestions. "I'm good now."

"I don't believe that," Cas says bluntly.

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but you didn't see yourself this morning. I've never seen anybody so afraid. Whatever they did to you, I don't think it can be reversed in six hours."

Dean considers telling Cas that, actually, it's been closer to half an hour in Heaven terms, before deciding that might not be in his best interests. "Yeah, well, won't happen again. Not now I know how to play my cards."

"What  _cards_? Dean, what is going on?" Cas demands. It's a fair question.

"It doesn't matter. Everything's rosy as long as I do what I'm told, and I plan to." He  _wants_ to. With everything in him, Dean wants to.

"And if you don't?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not going to screw this one up, Cas."

"You can't-"

"So what's going down on Earth?" Dean asks, picking up a newspaper from the floor. "I'm guessing the world hasn't ended yet."

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Yes, thank you," Dean mutters, skimming through the paper. "You here on a case?"

"We got here last night," Cas says impatiently. "Possible haunting. You-"

"Awesome," Dean says, dropping the paper again. "No Seals?"

"Not that we can find," Cas says, "but, then again, we aren't entirely sure what we're looking for."

"Fair play," Dean acknowledges. "Hauntings are always good to pass the time. When do we go?"

Cas looks at him, long and scrutinising. "What?" Dean says.

"You are  _not_  okay," Castiel says, "and your insistence on pretending otherwise is incredibly frustrating."

"Why break the habit of a lifetime?" Dean jokes. When Cas doesn't smile, doesn't even twitch, Dean sighs. "C'mon, Cas, throw me a friggin' bone here."

Cas lowers his eyes then. "I was… concerned for you," he says. "I still am."

"I'm telling you, I'm  _fine_ ," Dean says. "I'm your angel, okay? Not the other way around. You get your ass into trouble and I worry about you. That's how it works."

"No, it isn't," Cas says with sudden fierceness. "I don't care if it's not an official title, Dean. I still worry and care for you, and I will never stop trying to help where I can. Are we clear?"

 _Guard, prioritise, keep your distance._  Don't fuck up.

"Crystal," Dean says, with a tight swallow.

"We leave in ten minutes," Cas tells him.

* * *

"I'm Agent Brown, this is Agent Miller," Sam says. "Can we ask you some questions?"

"Uh, okay," the man at the counter says. "Shoot."

Dean lets them get on with it and scopes out the shop. He feels like a kid in a candy shop. There's a Darth Vader mask in a glass cage that he absolutely shouldn't want, and that he absolutely does.

He feels good, actually. He does. What is there to feel bad about? He'd been doubting, drifting off-course, and Heaven corrected it. Dean makes a mental note to thank Zachariah the next time they meet; he owes them that much and more.

Sure, some things haven't been a bundle of fun- the memories of Cas torturing Alastair push their way into Dean's head whenever he lets his guard down, and the knowledge that he broke the first Seal scrapes at him from inside- but Dean has a chance to turn things around. Cas can think, say, do whatever he wants- it doesn't change anything. This is a new beginning, Dean thinks; a chance to right his many wrongs. He is more grateful than he can put into words.

"So where's Dean?" he overhears the guy at the counter say light-heartedly, and he nearly craps himself.

"I'm sorry?" Sam says, his voice some strange place between polite shock and plain outrage.

"You guys are LARPing, right? You're doing well," he says to Sam. "Him? Not so much. I'm pretty sure Dean never wore a trench coat in the books."

 _ **The hell?**_ Dean says to Cas.

 _ **Something like that,**_ Cas agrees, frowning. "What books?" he asks the shop owner.

"Dammit, I always forget the name. Uh… oh yeah, 'Supernatural', that's it. Not very popular, but a pretty impressive cult following. Lots of teenage girls."

"You got any copies we could check out?" Sam asks, and so it happens that a good portion of their hard-earned/well-stolen cash is spent on a collection of flimsy paperbacks, all illustrated with pained-looking men in open shirts.

* * *

_**What the fuck, Cas?**_ Dean asks. So far,  _Jus In Belo_ is one of the weirdest things he's ever read, and he's read a lot of letters to Penthouse magazine. Cas has been skimming through the thing, and Dean reads the finishing lines over his shoulder.

" _Do you know how to run a battle?" Ruby spat, her eyes flaming. "You strike fast and you don't leave any survivors, so no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time? We go with my plan." Her point made and her duty done, Ruby turned and left.  
It was all Dean could do to look at Sam, words failing him. He loathed to admit it, but Ruby was right: they had lost the battle, and it was one more step in a war Dean was starting to think they could never win._

 _ **Cheery ending note,**_ Dean grunts.  _ **Where did he**_ **get** _ **this stuff?**_

"Did you know they wrote  _fanfiction_ about me and Dean?" Sam says in horror.

"What's that?" Castiel asks.

"Stories about us- actual stories, about stuff that never happened."

"Like... speculation?"

"More like porn," Sam says in disgust, closing the laptop lid. Dean's very glad that nobody attempts to expand on that.

"And you've really never heard of these books before?" Cas says, reaching into the bulging carrier bag and selecting a book at random. This one's called  _'Route 666'_ , and when Cas turns it over to look at the blurb, Dean spots the word 'Cassie' and decides that it's really in everybody's best interests if Cas doesn't read that. Dean hasn't read much of this author's stuff, but he's convinced that 'Carver Edlund' will have used the phrase 'making love' at least once, and that is not something he wants attached to his dick in any shape or fashion.

"Never," Sam says. "Internet says they're pretty obscure. I mean, almost zero circulation. The publisher only put out a few dozen before going bankrupt, and the final book ends with Dean going to Hell."

 _ **Awesome,**_ Dean says to Castiel bitterly.  _ **He couldn't have written about me becoming a Jedi or something instead?**_

_**And everything in these books happened? All of it?** _

_**There's no way I'm reading every one to find out, but so far it damn well looks like it. We gotta find this Carver Edlund.** _

"We need to find the author these books," Cas says to Sam.

"Yeah, that might not be so easy."

"Why not?"

"No tax records, no known address… looks like 'Carver Edlund' is a pen name."

"So there's no way to find him?"

 _ **Oh, there'll be a way,**_ Dean says darkly.

* * *

The publisher is insanely protective of books she didn't write and shouldn't damn well read.

"-and then in "Heart," when Sam had to kill Madison, the first woman since Jessica he really loved," she babbles, and Dean's genuinely concerned that she's about to burst into tears. "And in "Home," when Dean had to call John and ask him for help." Apparently, emotion overcomes her, and she has to turn away to gather herself. "Gosh... if only real men were so open and in touch with their feelings."

 _Wow_ , Dean thinks to himself.  _That's awkward on about ten separate levels._

"They're, uh, great books," Sam agrees awkwardly. "We're huge fans, just huge."

"Really?" she says suspiciously. Dean's guessing that, up until this point, there have been exactly five fans of 'Supernatural', and this lady knows them all. They probably hold weekly meetings in her basement, where everybody sobs over fictional characters and bakes pie in the shape of devil's traps. Actually, that last part sounds kind of awesome.

"Yes," Castiel says.

 _ **Oh, God, don't**_ **you** _ **try and lie,**_ Dean says- though, admittedly, Cas has gotten much better at it. Dean and Sam probably aren't the best influences.

"What's May 2nd?" the publisher asks, like some weird test.

"My- Sam's birthday," Sam replies.

"January 24th?" she asks Castiel.

 _ **Mine,**_ Dean says.

"Dean's," Castiel provides- and then, to Dean,  _ **I didn't know that.**_

_**Hardly matters now.** _

"Sam's last score on the LSAT?" the woman asks.

"One… seventy four?" Sam says hopefully. The publisher nods approvingly.

 _ **Really?**_ Cas asks Dean.

_**Yeah, he didn't get out much in college.** _

"Make and model of the car," she challenges.

"1967 Chevrolet Impala," Cas rattles off with ease.

 _ **Dude,**_ Dean says in stunned disbelief.

_**Yes, well, you made it very difficult not to know.** _

Dean's taking that as a compliment. The publisher's still not convinced, though- she's refusing to give them Carver Edlund's real name, and Sam's running out of ideas.

"Please," he says finally. "We're really,  _really_ big fans." He unbuttons his shirt, with a facial expression that says he regrets even getting out of bed this morning, and shows her the faded black ink of the anti-possession sigil. The woman looks at Castiel pointedly, who falters.

"Mine is, uh… in a location that I don't want seen on CCTV camera."

Sam looks like he doesn't know whether to die of embarrassment or burst out laughing. Dean's full-on cackling, so much so that he nearly misses the publisher hitching up her skirt and showing off her own tattoo.

 _ **This is so weird,**_ Dean says to Cas as she tugs the material back into place.

 _ **At least she's safe,**_ Cas replies.  _ **As far as fashion trends go, at least this one serves a practical use.**_

_**Isn't it about time you got one of those? Tattoos, I mean. If you're planning on sticking around for the long haul, you gotta suit up.** _

At first, Dean doesn't understand the rush of gratitude and warmth he feels coming from Cas. It takes him a moment to realise that he's just given Cas his blessing to hunt with Sam- not until he can find something else or until they're done with Seals, but for as long as he likes. Dean feels good about that- doubly so when he realises that Heaven will approve. Standing on a driveway and shouting at Castiel that he wasn't cut out for this suddenly feels like a very long time ago.

 _ **I'll talk to Sam about it,**_ Cas says, as Sam accepts a scribbled address from the crazy woman running the comic shop.

'Chuck Shurley' lives in a ramshackle house, and Dean's already got a bad feeling about this. Sam's the same; he hesitates when he gets out of the Impala, fingers drumming anxiously on the car roof. Cas strides past him without a second thought. It's alright for some, Dean thinks bitterly; Chuck's never written a word about a character named 'Castiel'.

The guy takes forever to answer the door, and when he does, he's not even dressed. The seemingly all-knowing creature tracking their every move sniffs and wipes pizza sauce from his chin. Dean doesn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

"Hi. Are you Chuck Shurley?" Sam asks. "The Chuck Shurley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"I'm Sam. The Sam you've been writing about."

Chuck closes the door.

 _ **Smooth,**_ Dean says to Cas. Sam rings the doorbell again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Chuck opens the door a crack and peers out.

"Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans-"

"We're not fans," Castiel says. "Personally, I find the writing style dull and overly ornate, but you know things about Sam and Dean that you shouldn't know. We want to know why."

Chuck gawps at Cas. He looks freaked out, a thousand times more so than when Sam had spoken. "Have we met?" he says eventually.

Castiel's been staring right back. "I… don't know," he says uncertainly. "You seem familiar."

 _ **Wait, what?**_ Dean says.

_**I don't know. There's- his face- I don't know.** _

_**Thank you, Yahoo! Answers.** _

"Look, we just want to know how you're doing it," Sam says.

"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck protests, but suddenly he doesn't sound so sure. He glances at Castiel again.

"Are you a hunter?" Cas asks.

 _ **If he is, we're all boned,**_ Dean says bluntly. The smirk that passes over Cas' lips barely lasts a second, but Chuck notices all the same. His mouth falls open slightly.

"What was your name again?" he asks Cas, his voice several notes higher than before.

"Castiel Mallach," Cas says.

"Did Phil put you up to this?" Chuck demands.

"Nobody put us up to this," Sam says. "I  _am_  Sam Winchester. My brother was called Dean. He's been in Hell for eight months now and trust me, that's not something I'd make up."

"Winchester," Chuck mutters. "I never even- you'd better come in," he says, running a hand through his hair and standing aside.

* * *

Chuck asks Sam about a few of their cases, sidling his eyes over to Castiel every now and again. He also asks if they think he's a god, an idea that Dean finds both offensive and blasphemous.

"I'm still writing," Chuck explains with a groan. "Publisher's bankrupt, so nobody's read a thing past No Rest For The Wicked, but there's been more. Including you," Chuck says, nodding at Cas.

 _ **Ahh, the sweet taste of justice,**_ Dean grins. Cas looks horrified.

"Yeah, Castiel. First appearance 'Lazarus Rising'. We meet you at Brightwood, when D-" Chuck realises what he's saying as he's saying it and cuts himself off, turning the word into an ugly cough. Dean's heart rate doubles.

"Sam," Chuck croaks when he's done. "When you met Sam."

"Yes," Castiel confirms, "the Witnesses."

 _ **Yeah, ask if he knows anything about Seals,**_ Dean urges. If they can use this guy, they should. Protecting the Seals- protecting Heaven- has to stay job number one.

"Sam, could you get me some water?" Chuck wheezes before Castiel can say anything. "I think I'm like, 80% whiskey at this point."

"Uh, sure thing," Sam says after sharing a confirmatory glance with Castiel. He's barely even left the room when Chuck leans forward.

"Well?" he hisses. "Is he there?"

"Who?"

"Dean!"

 _ **What do I say?**_ Castiel says. Dean's instinct is to deny everything, but they could do with Chuck's help, and if they tell him he's been wrong about such a big thing… the last thing they need is him leaving things out or making things up. Ideally, Dean would ask Anna or Inias, but he doesn't know if he has the time.

Chuck's already chuckling, shaking his head. "He is, isn't he? No other reason you'd take that long to reply. You even looked down."

"What?"

"I always write that you look down when you're talking to Dean. So you can, uh, concentrate on him better."

Dean's going to have to start checking for that.

"Yes," Castiel admits. "Dean is here."

 _ **Cas!**_ Dean says in alarm.

_**He already knew, Dean.** _

Dean's still unhappy, but the walls don't come crashing down around them and the floor remains firmly in place. He lets himself relax a little.

"In the room?" Chuck questions.

"As far as I know."

"Where is he?" Chuck asks curiously. He starts feeling around blindly, like he might be able to suddenly grab hold of an invisible arm.

"Hey, quit it," Dean snaps, moving away.  _ **Cas, tell him to quit it,**_ he complains.

"You know that Sam can't know?" Cas says to Chuck.

"Oh yeah, totally. Heaven would freak out if  _anyone_ knew. I mean, look at what they did to Dean just for trying to kiss you," Chuck says. Dean's torn between anger that Chuck is daring to badmouth Heaven, and nauseating discomfort, like he thinks it must feel to be a teenage kid whose mom walks in mid-makeout session.

"So why are  _you_ allowed to know?" Cas questions, cutting through the awkward and getting to the heart of the matter. Before Chuck can try and respond, Sam reappears. Chuck accepts the glass of water from him, immediately setting it down on the table like contact with something healthy could burn his skin.

"So I think you're probably psychic," Sam says gently.

"No way," Chuck says immediately. "If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard."

"Sorry, but it's true. We think you're somehow... focused on our lives," Sam says.

 _ **Laser-focused,**_ Dean grunts to Cas. He wonders how many bullshit 'based-on-a-dream' series were actually psychics recording the life of some poor son of a bitch. If Twilight's real, bring on the apocalypse.

The thought brings a twist of guilt to Dean's chest, along with a cautionary brush of fear. He doesn't know what got into him- he's a servant of Heaven now, and that kind of joke isn't funny.

It turns out that Chuck somehow neglected to mention that he  _wrote himself_ into the latest book, and that he was writing about their arrival  _as_   _they_   _arrived._

"Can we have a copy?" Sam asks.

"Sure," Chuck says, but as he goes to get up he freezes. Dean's pretty sure he's just realised that when Sam opens the front page and reads something like 'commands from Heaven still fresh in Dean's brain, he went with Castiel to the dingy old comic shop', there  _might_ be a problem.

"Uh, you know what?" Chuck says, scratching the back of his neck. "No can do. The cat peed on my last manuscript."

"So print another."

"Printer died."

"Email me the file."

"Did I say printer? I meant computer. Whole computer's gone, just totally busted. I think I got root beer on the wiring. Listen," Chuck says. "How about I call you if anything big comes up? Like, Lilith big?"

"That could work," Cas agrees.

"It's gonna have to," Chuck says, with a sympathetic twist of his lips, and then they're being ushered out. Chuck shuts the door as quickly as he can and leaves Sam and Cas standing on the doorstep, Dean nearby.

"I don't think that man even has a cat," Castiel says sincerely.

* * *

Cas and Dean are halfway through their second Clint Eastwood movie when Cas' phone starts to buzz angrily on the table.

Dean supposes that watching movies is a strangely mundane- almost  _domestic_ \- thing to be doing considering the events of the previous few days on Earth, but he's found it relatively easy to readjust. Dean's had thirty years to perfect the art of bouncing back from catastrophes- and hell, it doesn't really feel like there's anything to come back  _from._ He certainly doesn't feel traumatised.

That being said, Dean's kind of fidgety. Every moment spent not actively trying to stop Lilith is a moment wasted, and it feels like he's letting Heaven down.

Cas answers the phone with "Chuck", and Dean pauses the movie. Whatever Cas hears makes him grimace.

"Should we come now?" Cas asks. "You're sure?"

Dean waits as patiently as he can. "More freaky psychic intel?" he questions when Cas hangs up.

"Apparently. He's asked us to wait until morning to visit, though- apparently he's taken a considerable amount of sleeping medication."

"Awesome," Dean says in disgust. He stretches, his wings doing the same behind him.

"He also told me you're going to make me watch another  _four_ movies tonight," Cas accuses.

"Then let's not waste time," Dean says solemnly, clicking the film back on and silently thanking Sam and Cas for picking a motel with good taste (or, at least, a penchant for cowboy movies). Cas huffs, but sits back down as Dean hits 'play'.

Cas' eyes start to close near the end of  _Hang 'Em High,_ and soon his breathing is slow and steady. Dean considers complaining, but he has a suspicion that Cas didn't sleep much while he was away.

Dean's watching Cas sleep, an odd fondness spreading through him, when Cas rolls over and his head falls to rest on Dean's shoulder. Dean freezes in place. His first instinct is to throw Cas off and put as much distance between them as he can, but something stops him. His hand, already raised to push Cas away, hovers in mid-air. He swallows.

There's something comforting about Cas' presence at his side. It's not that there's anything  _wrong_ \- because there isn't, Dean's fine- but having Cas there makes things feel somehow… more right.

 _That doesn't make any sense_. This is wrong, so logically, it should feel wrong. Castiel is his ward, and anything that suggests their relationship exists on a deeper level is inappropriate.  _Guard, prioritise, keep away._ _I told Anna nothing would happen, I swore I wouldn't do this._

But that's not quite right, is it? The only person Dean promised anything to was himself. He looks back at Cas and finds that, suddenly, the self-delivered instruction to keep his distance is a lot less convincing.  _If it was really that wrong, wouldn't the failsafe have kicked in by now?_

That's true; there are no memories tearing into him, no emotions occupying him other than a soft, rippling kind of contentment. He's not disobeying orders. They're meeting up with Chuck in the morning, and they'll sort things out then. It's all going to be okay; he's still serving Heaven, it's all okay.

Cas' eyes are closed now, his chest slowly rising and falling. As slowly and carefully as if he were disarming a bomb, Dean curls an arm around Cas' shoulders. Cas shuffles closer without waking, pushing his face into Dean's neck like his body knows it belongs there.

Dean waits ten, fifteen minutes, but nothing bad happens. Thirty minutes pass and Dean cautiously accepts that, for now, this is okay. He finds himself tangling his fingers through the hair at the nape of Cas' neck, a soft smile growing on his face as the first Dirty Harry movie starts on the TV.

 _Maybe I can stay here for a little while,_ Dean thinks _. That's okay, right?_ Dean has no idea who he's asking, and by the time morning rolls around and finds him in the exact same position, he's no clearer on the answer.

* * *

"Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion," Chuck reads out. The silence that follows stretches on for a very, very long time.

"You're kidding me," Sam eventually gets out.

"Sorry, man," Chuck shrugs.

"Lilith's a little kid _,_ " Sam points out.

"No, uh- this time she's a 'comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana'."

"There's no way it's gonna happen," Sam says firmly. "No way."

 _ **Yeah, because he's a real stranger to nailing demons,**_ Dean says disapprovingly. It  _won't_ happen, because Dean and Heaven won't let it, but he can't deny Sam's always had a thing for chicks with a hint of monster in them.

"Lilith's coming tonight?" Cas asks Chuck, who nods.

"Yeah. So, um, be ready."

 _ **Thanks for the advice, coach,**_ Dean grunts to Cas- and son of a bitch, Cas  _does_  look down at his feet when Dean talks. Chuck knows his shit.

 _ **We're nowhere near ready for a confrontation with Lilith,**_ Cas says.

 _ **What, so we turn tail and run? Stand back and let Lilith open the gates of Hell? I don't think so,**_ Dean says.

"This is actually good," Sam says when he and Cas get back in the Impala. "This is the first time we've got the jump on Lilith. We know when she's coming and where she is- Cas, this is an opportunity."

"And how exactly are you planning to kill her?" Cas says. "Because I seem to have missed that part of the plan." Dean credits himself with teaching Cas sarcasm.

"I'm pretty strong," Sam says, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. "Last time we saw Ruby, she said herself that I'm nearly strong enough."

" _Nearly,_ " Cas emphasises. "I can't imagine Lilith will let you try again in a few weeks' time if this fails."

"It won't fail, okay?" Sam says. "I can't afford to screw this up, Cas, so I'm not going to."

"Optimism has not proved an efficient weapon against demons so far."

"Hey, I'm the one that who always gets his hands bloody," Sam says, and neither he nor Dean miss the wince that passes over Cas' face. "Crap, Cas, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Cas says stiffly.

"Yeah, well," Sam says, glancing at Cas if they drive. Sam swallows, and Dean recognises the start of an 'I Am Here For You' talk.

"Listen…" Sam begins, true to form. "I'm here if you wanna talk about what happened, okay?"

"Thank you, but there's really nothing I'd like less."

Sam nods, offering only a tight and understanding smile, and focuses back on the road.

 _ **Any nightmares lately?**_ Dean asks. Cas' torture of Alastair was necessary, but Dean still feels like crap whenever he thinks of it.

_**Most nights.** _

_**Any new content?** _

_**Yes,**_ Cas answers, but leaves it at that.

"Hey, do you wanna grab something to eat?" Sam says. They skipped breakfast, impatient to hear the news about Lilith, and now it's past one- they spent a long time banging on Chuck's door, trying to bully him into getting out of bed. Cas agrees, and they pull into the kind of diner that would make Gordon Ramsay shudder.

 _ **Bacon cheeseburger,**_ Dean urges Cas as he looks over the menu.  _ **Do it for me.**_

Cas goes with Sam and orders a cobb salad instead, and it's a shame that he can't see just how disapprovingly Dean glares at him. Sam and Cas discuss Lilith whilst chomping their vegetation, and Dean slips out back.

"Inias?" he calls. There's a flutter of wings, and the requested angel appears. Dean explains about Lilith and Cas and Chuck, Inias nodding along thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Dean," he says when Dean is done. "That's very helpful. I'll make sure Zachariah hears it."

Dean nods. "Awesome." He feels a hell of a lot better now he's reported into Heaven, like a weight's been lifted off his chest. Why did he bother trying to hide things before? It only ever served to hurt.

"How are you?" Inias asks Dean, very carefully.

"Enjoying the smell of bacon cheeseburgers," Dean replies. Inias bites back a smile.

"You know what I mean. I talked to Anna," Inias says by way of explanation.

"I'm good," Dean says. "Seriously, I am. Why didn't you do this to me earlier?"

"Are you genuinely asking why you weren't disciplined earlier?" Inias says, sounding very troubled by it. "Dean, discipline is the single worst thing that can happen to any angel. To any  _person._ "

"Well, it feels pretty good to me," Dean shrugs.

"That's because you can't remember  _how_ it felt," Inias says agitatedly.

"So?"

"To live with the weight of that knowledge- to know what will happen if you consider disobedience-"

"Means that I don't consider disobedience," Dean finishes. "Is that a bad thing?" he says, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, no," Inias says. "Of course not."

"There you go, then," Dean says.

Inias' mouth tightens into a line."Good luck with Lilith," he says before he goes.

Dean stands and regards the empty space Inias left. The tips of his wings flick in discomfort. He's sure that Inias wouldn't consider anything traitorous- he's an angel, and so can be trusted- but Dean's not sure he likes what was being implied.

Dean reappears in the diner to find some guy he's never seen before talking to Sam and Cas- mostly Cas, actually. Dean can't remember the last time he saw Castiel so animated. Jealousy ripples through Dean's chest. He wants Cas to be happy, obviously, but he prefers to be the cause.

Dean's stomach lurches when he realises the gravity of what he just thought. Stuffing the emotion away, he teleports directly behind Cas, and the strange man jolts like he's been shocked.

"Balthazar?" Cas asks in concern, while Dean just stands there and stares. He's  _definitely_  still incorporeal.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" the man named Balthazar asks, jerking his head towards the bathroom. His attention is still very much on Dean, and he's not looking through him, he's looking  _at him._

"Of course," Cas says, and Balthazar walks into the Gents. Less than two seconds later it's Dean's turn to jump, as Balthazar reappears from thin air.

"What the fuck?" Dean gasps.

"I could say the same to you," Balthazar says, folding his arms. "Since when has Cas had a  _guardian angel_?"

"Since when has it been your business?" Dean retorts, automatically moving closer to Cas.

"Since I was an angel of bloody Heaven," Balthazar says in disbelief. "Sorry if I don't keep up to date on which chimpanzees they've been gluing wings onto."

"Sorry," Dean says immediately, all hostility dropped. His wings flatten themselves against his back. "Didn't realise you were an angel. I'm really sorry."

"Alright, calm down," Balthazar says, sounding uncomfortable. "No smiting here, I swear. Truth be told, you probably spend more time upstairs than I do."

"Yeah?"

"I like Earth," Balthazar shrugs. "I like food, and wine, and sex, and Heaven's sadly lacking in all those categories."

"How do you know Cas?" Dean asks, a horrible feeling in his gut, but Balthazar snorts.

"Please," Balthazar says, "like he'd  _ever._ Don't worry, it's all sickeningly platonic between us. I visited him in hospital, that's all."

"How come?"

"This vessel was some vague relation of his. I swung by once out of interest and I thought I'd keep on going- it's not like any of the others would bloody well bother," he says viciously. Dean's not shocked to hear that Cas' extended family suck as much as his parents did.

"What's that?" Balthazar frowns, his eyes fixing on Dean's necklace. Dean's hand moves to it, fingers tapping at the tiny vial.

"Guardian thing," he says. "Anna gave me it. Helps keep the grace in place."

"Right. Of course," Balthazar says, looking faintly disgusted.

"So, you planning on sticking around?" Dean asks.

"God, no," Balthazar says. "I don't know what Cas is doing with the tall one who needs a haircut-"

"Sam," Dean offers.

"- but they mentioned road trips, and I don't do motels. I'm only in these god-awful diner to pick up Denise," he says, nodding over at the pretty blonde who served Cas and Sam earlier.

"They're looking for Lilith," Dean supplies. "We're pretty close to finding her, actually."

"Lilith?" Balthazar says, whipping back to face Dean. "Cas is  _hunting_?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "Pretty sure that's why I got assigned to him, actually. Protect the Seals, stop the apocalypse, finish what I started and all that."

Balthazar isn't listening. "I knew about Lilith," he says, "but I didn't think she was a genuine  _problem._ She's far from the first brat to try and drag Daddy up from the pit, but if they're getting-"

"There's no problem," Dean says fiercely. "We're going to stop it."

"Good for you," Balthazar says absently, giving the waitress one last glance. "Listen, not that it wasn't nice talking to you- actually, that's a lie, it wasn't- but it looks like I'm going back to Heaven. It looks like I may be a little more out of the loop than I thought."

"Fair enough," Dean says. "See you around."

"I hope not," Balthazar says pleasantly, and then he's gone.

 _Dick,_ Dean thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the bottle of emotions in his chest doesn't get unplugged. He makes a note of it; apparently, obedience doesn't have to involve affection.

Before Dean can do anything, Balthazar reappears.

"What do you mean, you're close to finding Lilith?" he frowns.

"We've got info on her location. With any luck, in twenty-four hours' time, Lilith'll be nothing but a bloody stain on the wall."

"How could y- oh,  _no_. Don't even-  _no_ ," Balthazar says.

"Excuse me?"

"Sam?" Balthazar says, pointing back at the table. "As in Sam _Winchester_?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"And you're his brother, aren't you? You were killed by Lilith, you went to Hell-"

"And Heaven pulled me out," Dean says. "Yeah. So what?"

Balthazar groans. "There is not enough wine in the world for this," he says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Wanna elaborate on that?"

"Do you want to know why Heaven doesn't make more of a fuss over how little I visit?" Balthazar says to Dean. "There's a man down here they use me to keep an eye on. Personally, I find it ridiculous- they may as well ask a house cat to guard a lion cub- but what can you do?"

"Wait, who?" Dean says, feeling like he's several steps behind.

"Carver Edlund, also known as Chuck Shurley, also known as a prophet of the Lord."

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me," Dean says after a beat.

"If only. I read his novels- terrible, terrible books, by the way- but they ended with you going to Hell. I assumed that that was where you and Sam cease to be of importance. Did Chuck not get cut off?"

"Only by the publisher," Dean says, trying to work out if he just got insulted. "There are more prophecies, you just can't buy them in Barnes & Noble."

"So he saw you getting tagged onto Cas? And Lilith breaking Seals?"

"Yep, and he saw that she's coming for Sam tonight."

"But judging by what I've read, Sam's nowhere near strong enough to defeat her," Balthazar says.

"He's gotten stronger," Dean argues. "Way stronger. He can ice her, no problem. Heaven wouldn't let him- let me let him- oh, you know what I mean- otherwise."

Balthazar looks at Dean and frowns. "How disappointing," he says. "Chuck always gave the impression that you could think for yourself."

"What, so I shouldn't trust Heaven now or something?" Dean challenges. Balthazar sighs like something's just clicked in his head.

"You've been disciplined, haven't you?" he says with an air of disgust. "It's a bloody awful thing,  _especially_  for guardians."

"It's not," Dean says instinctively- but then curiosity defeats disapproval and he says "wait, why guardians?"

"You've been tortured in Hell and Heaven- and Earth too, well done you- so I'm trusting you can handle some comparisons. Hell use the things you hate against you. Up in Heaven, we prefer to use the things you love."

Dean sorts through his memories and finds that yes, there's a definite pattern. Hell was knives, and blades, and burning. Whilst Heaven certainly didn't skimp on the pain, he wasn't the only one on the receiving end. He watched Sam and Cas get hurt too, along with his mother, his father, Anna, Inias, every person he ever failed to save serving as a warning of what he had to lose.

Dean couldn't say which one had more of an impact- it's like asking if he'd find a beige or a cream wall more upsetting- but it does explain why Heaven couldn't do much with Alastair. Somehow, Dean doubts that the demon cared about all that much.

"Angels aren't supposed to like things," Balthazar says. "I was never very good at following that rule. But it means that for us, being disciplined usually isn't  _all_ that scarring. I'm hardly on board with the idea of guardians- I find it vaguely offensive, to be honest- but the system does seem weighted against you. You've got a lot more to lose."

"Whatever," Dean says. He doesn't want to hear this. "Doesn't matter. I trust Heaven, okay?"

"Do you? Or are you just afraid not to?"

"Get lost," Dean snaps.

"Gladly," Balthazar says. "I don't want any part in this. I'm going to find out what's going on and then make sure I stay the hell away from it. One thing, though- and I'm doing this for Cas.  _Not_ for you."

"Go on," Dean says warily.

"Prophets are guarded by archangels. It's like what you do, only it's actually useful _._  If anything threatens a prophet, the archangel turns up and rains on that particular parade- usually with fire. They're heaven's most terrifying weapon- not that I need to tell  _you_ that."

"I'll keep it in mind," Dean says grudgingly.

"No, keep everything I said in mind. Faith is a dangerous thing, Dean," Balthazar says, addressing Dean by name for the first time. "You should put more thought into where you place it."

"You know, Cas is totally gonna think you're pooping," Dean says, nodding back at the Gents. Balthazar rolls his eyes.

"And Anna wonders why I don't like guardians," he mutters, and then he's gone.

* * *

_**Do you really think Sam's strong enough?** _

_**Cas,**_ Dean groans.  _ **We've talked about this.**_

_**What if he isn't? Dean, what if Lilith kills him?** _

Dean takes that like a punch to the gut. It takes him a while to formulate a reply.

_**He has to try. If it's our only shot at Lilith, he's gotta try.** _

_**But it** _ **isn't** _**our only shot at Lilith.** _

_**You don't know that.** _

_**And neither do you.** _

_**We're not running,**_ Dean says firmly.  _ **Sam's going to stay, and fight Lilith, and he'll win. And if he doesn't… then, well.**_

_**Well?** _

_**Nothing ventured, nothing gained.** _

_**Are you telling me that you value your own brother's life less** _ _**than an attempt on Lilith's?** _

_**That's not- Lilith comes first, okay?**_ Dean says agitatedly.  _ **Stopping her has to be priority number one, always.**_

_**And you mean that? You would watch Sam die because it took you one step closer to Lilith?** _

_No,_ is Dean's first thought, and then the world is wrenched away.

_There's pressure on Dean's chest: rocks or weights or something, he doesn't know what. He can't see a thing, is conscious only of the weight above and the cold cut of rock underneath. Dean can feel his ribs groan, his breath shallow and desperate._

_The pressure suddenly blooms, another weight dropped onto the stack. Dean both feels and hears the first rib crack._ _His head dips back over the ledge of the stone bed he's stretched out on, his throat raw and red with screams._

" _Dean," Raphael says disapprovingly over the sound. "Don't be like that. You know how to stop this."_

 _The weight increases again, and more ribs begin to buckle under the pressure. It's so difficult to breathe, so difficult to speak. His reaction to pain, however, is not what's being tested here. Pain just happens to be the road Raphael picked_ , _nothing but a means to an end._

" _I won't," Dean gasps. "Can't make me."_

_"We'll see about that," Raphael says, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice._

The memory hasn't bothered him before. With no pain or fear to act as a bookmark, it hasn't seemed worthy of attention. But now it comes from nowhere, drowning Dean in hopelessness and despair and sheer fucking  _terror_.

 _ **Cas, I can't do this,**_ Dean says desperately, trying to pull himself back from the memory sucking him in.  _ **Don't ask me to.**_

_**Dean? Are you alright?** _

_**Yes,**_ he thinks forcefully, deliberately, and he's not sure just which of Cas' questions he's answering. Either way, the emotion recedes, returning him to his resting state of stone and pinion feathers. He lifts guilty eyes to Sam, sitting in the corner of the room on his laptop, and tries to pretend that everything's fine.

No, there's no pretending. Everything  _is_ fine. Deep inside, Dean still knows that this is the right thing.

" _That'll fade too. Pretty quickly, actually."_

Dean pushes Anna's words aside. He serves Heaven. At times, he forgets that, and that's bad- but he remembers it again, so it's okay. It's okay.

They're both hanging out in Sam and Ruby's room, killing time until Operation Lilith. It's an awkward, meaningless kind of transience, a space with nothing to fill it. Time crawls by, the sun sinking in the sky, and Sam turns to Cas.

"You should get going," he says.

Cas' nose crinkles. "Where?"

"Anywhere. Out. If Lilith  _is_ coming here, you're in danger."

"As are you," Cas points out.

"You don't get it," Sam says, frustrated. "Lilith's powers don't work on me. She could turn you inside out by glancing at you, but she can't touch me. Please, Cas, stay out of dodge."

"No," Cas says bluntly.

Sam pauses and gives Cas the same look he used to give Dean- his eyes wide and pleading, like he's begging Cas to let him do this. It tended to work on Dean; Cas, it seems, is immune.

"I already lost one brother," Sam says, voice cracking slightly. "Please, don't make me lose you too."

 _ **Sam and I aren't related,**_ Cas says to Dean in confusion.

 _**He means that it feels like you are. That you're** _ **like** _**a brother to him.** _

_**Oh,**_ Cas says. Dean has to smile at the shock that pulses from Cas- especially when it's followed by a warm, awed glow. Before Cas can try and reply, though, Ruby appears from nowhere. Neither man jumps.

"Ruby," Sam says in relief.

"What's he still doing here?" she asks, frowning at Cas.

"Being stubborn," Sam says.

"You sure know how to pick 'em," Ruby mutters, before glaring at Cas. "You wanna die?"

And Dean remembers the last time he heard her say those words- except it  _wasn't_ her, there was someone else wearing the skin they called 'Ruby'. She pinned Sam to the wall without even touching him and smiled as she held Dean down against the table, giggled as dogs tore out his throat.

"Not particularly," Cas says.

"Then get ready to be disappointed, because Lilith's going to kill you the second she steps through that door," Ruby says _. You're wrong_ , Dean thinks, as a voice floats to the surface of his mind.

_Over forty-five minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun._

"If you won't do the sane thing and get the hell out of here," Ruby continues, "at least go hole up in your own room. You'll be close enough to come running if Sam needs you, but you're not handing yourself to Lilith all wrapped up with a bow. That seem fair?"

"I suppose so," Cas says, clearly unhappy about it.

"Glad to be of service," Ruby says sarcastically. "Go on, scram."

"See you on the other side," Sam says with a rueful smile. Cas nods and leaves, Dean trailing after him with a glance back at the motel room. This is happening. Lilith's coming.

_I don't have to answer to puppy chow._

Cas' room is directly across the hall. He holds the door open for a few seconds, courtesy of Dean's series of complaints about how  _frigging annoying_  it is to have doors slammed in his face. As soon as it closes, Dean drops into visibility.

"She's going to destroy him," Cas says flatly as he turns around.

_Sic 'em, boy._

"I know," Dean says quietly. In the hallway, he hears footsteps. They could be anybody's, but he knows they're not. Cas barely got out in time.

"You  _know?_ " Cas says angrily. "What use is that? Dean, we need to stop this."

Dean doesn't know if he can. If he interferes because he's concerned for Sam, if he lets Lilith get away, what does that say about him? About his allegiance? He swore to put stopping Lilith first, to prioritise Heaven and its orders above all other things, but that conviction is slipping. Anna was right. Every grin from Sam and every word from Cas is like a fresh arrow of doubt embedding itself in his chest, another voice adding to the blasphemous chorus whispering that there are things that matter more.

"I hate this, Cas," Dean says, without even realising he's spoken. His voice is shaking.

"You're not the only one," Cas says grimly. He moves closer to Dean, close enough to temporarily steal the breath from Dean's chest, choke off the words in his mouth.

"What can we do?" Cas murmurs, his eyes flicking over Dean's face. "There's something, isn't there? You wouldn't be this conflicted otherwise."

Dean doesn't reply. Balthazar's words ring in his head- but no, that's not an option. If the archangels wanted to get involved, they would have. It's not Dean's place to summon one to fight his battles, not his place to try and tell them what to do. To intentionally place a prophet of the Lord in danger, for no reason other than leftover affection from a past life, is unthinkable, irrational, illogical.

Then again, logic's never won out over protecting Sam yet.

"You can say it," Cas urges him. "Words aren't actions, Dean. Whatever it is, we don't  _have_ to go through with it."

Dean can't hear anything from across the hall. Is that a good thing? Would Lilith scream as she died? Would Sam? Dean daren't go in the room- if Alastair could see him, then Lilith will definitely be able to. She won't hesitate in telling Sam everything, and then the game's up and it's straight to Hell for all of them, to wait in chains until Lilith breaks number sixty-six and they rise as her servants. Dean could handle getting dragged back to Hell, but there's no friggin' way he's getting Sam and Cas thrown down after him.

"Chuck's a prophet," Dean says, quietly, like that'll somehow make it better. "Prophets have archangels. If Chuck gets put in danger, his archangel shows and deals with whatever's causing trouble."

"So if we were to bring Chuck to Lilith…" Cas says.

"I'm guessing they'd show and handle it, yeah."

"Then that's what we have to do."

"No," Dean says immediately. "It's sneaky, it's backhanded- it's not right, Cas."

"Yes, it is," Cas says firmly. "Sam's not strong enough to defeat Lilith, but an archangel may be. This decision makes her death  _more_  likely."

It's a good point, but it's not enough. "If they wanted in on this, they'd be here already," Dean argues.

"What if they don't know?" Cas suggests. "They can't be everywhere at once, and I doubt Lilith is easy to track."

"I guess," Dean says unsurely- but no, he's told Inias, so that doesn't make any sense. Unless Inias hasn't had the chance to pass the message on? It's not always easy to get hold of the higher-ups in Heaven, that much Dean knows. Fuck, why is nothing ever straightforward?  _  
_

"Dean," Cas says, somehow moving even _closer,_ close enough that Dean can feel his body heat. "We don't have time."

Dean should probably make that his freakin' motto.

"If I took you to Chuck," Dean says, words slipping out his mouth before he can think about this enough to hold them back, "how would he even get here?"

"Drive, I suppose," Cas says. "If Sam can keep Lilith… distracted,"- and Dean knows they're both remembering what Chuck wrote- "it could work. If nothing else, we have to try."

Dean remembers the bullshit logic problems they'd hand out back in high school, the ones he'd usually fashion into paper airplanes or doodle on. He'd try to weigh up the facts he was given- the woman in the red dress lived in flat C, the person in flat E hated the colour purple, the twins in blue never wore hats- but there were too many goddamn variables for him to get his head around it. It's the same thing now, but those variables have bones that could break and blood that could spill if he gets the answer wrong.

"Dean," Cas says again. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Dean answers instantaneously, because no matter what else changes, that's become his constant, the fixed point from which he can build everything else.

"Then take me to Chuck," Cas says, and Dean reaches out a hand and does exactly that.

* * *

"How long do you think he's gonna take?" Dean asks. He's sitting on the bed, head cradled in his hands.

"Five minutes if he breaks all the speed limits I encouraged him to."

Chuck had been unwilling at first- but when Cas pulled out his gun and said, very quietly, that he  _strongly_ advised Chuck did as asked, he'd changed his mind. Cas decided to trust Chuck to do as promised, saying he'd rather be at the motel in case Sam ends up calling for help.  _If Sam's not already dead_ , Dean thinks.

"I'm sorry," he says hoarsely, raising his head to look at Cas.

"For what?"

Dean gestures wordlessly, trying to somehow encompass his failure to support Heaven and his failure to challenge it in one loose wave of his hand.

"I can feel it going, you know," he says, tapping the side of his head. "All their hard work, leaking away." Dean looks away again, stares into space. "I was  _so_  frickin' sure I was doing the right thing. I didn't just have to serve Heaven; I  _wanted_  to."

"And now?" Cas prompts when Dean doesn't continue.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I mean, I'm not going to disobey-" and that softens the threatening flutter in his chest, dampens it slightly- "but it feels like I'm being pulled five ways at once. One minute I feel like an angel- like Heaven's all that matters to me, like it's all I should give a crap about- but the next? Fuck, Cas, I just want to be human again. I miss driving my car, I miss Sam, I miss being able to open a damn door _._ You don't know how frustrating it is to be in the same room with you and not be able to even  _touch_ you."

Dean can taste blood at the back of his throat, can feel all the things Heaven stuffed down deep inside of him threatening to bubble up. There is still nothing but silence from across the hall. If Chuck is still coming, he is taking too long.

Dean gets to his feet, unable to stay seated. "Seems crazy to think that it used to be me who was giving you beer and dragging you back into the human race," he comments bitterly.

"You're still human, Dean," Cas says firmly, moving to stand in front of Dean. "No matter what else is there, your humanity remains unchanged."

"Nice thought," Dean grunts. "I'm not so sure."

"Do you still feel human?" Cas asks.

"That's-"

"Answer the question," Cas demands.

"Yes," he says.

"And if you feel human, you can  _act_ human?"

"I guess, but-"

Cas makes a noise of frustration. "Then  _prove_ it," he growls, and he grabs Dean's face in his hands and pulls them together.

Dean's hand is tight against the back of Cas' neck before he can work out if it should be or not, his other arm curling around Cas' body to pull him close. He kisses Cas like he's drowning because it feels like he is, clings to him like an anchor in a tempest that he can't understand, let alone control. Cas kisses back, palms pressed to Dean's face to bring him closer. Dean got months of longing to work with here, channelling desire and passion and pure fucking  _need_ into the fisting of Cas' shirt under his fingers, their lips a collision of heat and movement and desperate energy.

The sound Cas makes when Dean digs teeth into his lip, the scrape of his stubble against Dean's face, it's all a reminder that this is about as far from angel as Dean can get- which is, in turn, as close to human as he can get.

He doesn't want to break away, doesn't want to have to return to reality and try and face all the complications he's just created, but the thundering of footsteps from the hallway tells him he has to. Dean and Cas break apart, both lunging for the door at once. Dean barely remembers to keep back, pressing himself against the wall by the doorframe and listening.

"I am the prophet Chuck!" he hears Chuck proclaim.

"You've  _got_  to be joking," a female voice says in disgust, and Dean's sure that's Lilith. He can hear rumbling, like the walls themselves are starting to shake- in fact, forget 'like', they  _are._

 _ **Is Sam okay?**_ Dean asks desperately.  _ **Is he there?**_

 _ **Yes,**_ he gets back from Cas. Dean sags in relief.

"What's this, Sam? Did you get a new toy?" Dean hears the woman say, and he's guessing that means she's spied Cas. "How sweet! My doggies have been getting  _ever_ so bored with nothing to chew on."

There's light pouring into the room Dean's in, a bright, white light, and the shaking has grown into an angry roar as the whole building threatens to come down around them.

"What's going on? Have- did you summon an  _archangel_?" Lilith says in disgust. "That really does make me very angry, you naughty boy. I can't touch Sam, but maybe I have enough time to have some fun with  _you_."

Even across the hall, the light is near-blinding.  _Please work, please fucking work,_ Dean pleads silently.

"What do you say?" Lilith croons, and Dean has to struggle to hear it over the clamour of oncoming destruction.

"Go ahead," Cas replies. "Make my day."

There's the agonising scream Dean's long since learned means a demon exiting its vessel. Cas, Chuck and Sam come stumbling past Dean, slamming the door behind them, and the blinding light making its way through the cracks in the door slowly begins to fade. The juddering of the earth beneath their feet begins to slow and then stops altogether; the archangel's been called off.

"Dude, what  _was_  that?" Sam pants out, chest heaving. "Did Lilith say  _archangel_?"

"Yes," Cas says. "Chuck's a prophet. It's a long story." Chuck gives a shaky thumbs up.

"Can- can I go now?" he asks. Sam glances at Cas, who nods.

"Of course. Thank you, Chuck."

"Oh, thank God," Chuck sighs in relief, and turns to go.

 _ **Wish I could say thanks too,**_ Dean says glumly. He's still surprised Chuck even agreed to help out.

"Chuck!" Cas calls. Chuck pauses and looks back suspiciously. Cas looks down just long enough for Chuck to notice, and then looks up again. "Thanks," he says. A small smile spreads across Chuck's face before he turns around again and leaves.

Sam's looking at Cas oddly- presumably the double 'thank you' stuck out.

"Chuck saved your life," Cas defends. "And I'm of a similar opinion to you."

"What?"

"I mean that I've lost enough family already." The claim might be a cover-up, but Dean knows for a fact that Cas means what he's saying, and Sam's grin is bright enough to wipe the weariness from his face.

Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly as the Sam and Cas stand smiling at each other, sharing what can only be called a 'moment'. _Freakin' girls._

"What did Lilith want?" Cas asks once they're back in business mode.

"A deal," Sam says. "She said she'd quit breaking Seals."

"What did she want in return?"

"Us." Needles pierce Dean's heart, cold fingers running down his spine.  _Sam and Cas for Lilith._  Is it a fair trade? He doesn't know, and even thinking about it is skating on thin ice, the kind he can feel cracking underneath him.

"And you told her...?" Cas asks.

"I told her to bite me," Sam snarls.

"You didn't consider it?" Cas asks, after a beat. "At all?"

"I already damned one person to Hell," Sam says, his words barbed. "I'm not doing it again."

"My life matters less than stopping Lilith," Cas says, matter-of-fact as ever, and Dean's first thought is- with complete conviction-  _that's not true._

In the split-second before the levee breaks, Dean thinks that Anna was right.

It's gone. The devotion's gone, like it was never there. He's alone again, and the bomb in his chest has a hair trigger. What he did today and the emptiness where his faith once was and ' _not true, not goddamn true'_ collide and smash until Dean is nothing but memories. They're all desperately reaching out to wrap sticky, heavy tendrils around Dean's mind, shoving each other out the way in their individual attempts to gain his full attention.

The memory from earlier is the one to ultimately gain control; Dean's mind is apparently determined that he should relive the experience in full.

" _We'll see about that."_

 _The pressure grows and grows until Dean can't even scream anymore, all the air forced from his lungs, but he's still conscious; there'll be no easy escape from pain here. The pressure begins to spread slowly but surely, moving down his body and up his neck. Dean retches helplessly as weight begins to build on his stomach and throat, growing heavier with each second that passes. All around him is blackness and he's starting to wonder if the dark itself is what's weighing him down, if it's grown sentient and heavy and_ angry-

Dean's no longer in the room with Sam and Cas, not really. He's very vaguely aware that they're leaving, but he's paralysed, his mind a thousand miles away. He tries to regain control but finds that he can't, that the memory won't stop coming.

_"Say it."_

_Dean can't speak; even if he wanted to, he couldn't. Raphael seems to realise this and the pressure relaxes for a moment. Dean sucks in a greedy breath, only to scream out his pain all over again as his serrated ribs cut into his flesh._

_"If you want it to stop, you just have to say," Raphael says._

" _Go to Hell," Dena pants, and the pressure's back._

_It's days, maybe weeks, until the pressure next clears._

" _Say it," Raphael orders._

_Dean says nothing; the pressure returns._

_Raphael's not going to kill Dean; he's going to trap him here forever, encase him in a night like cement with an agony he has no words to describe. _He doesn't know how long passes until it lifts again, but it feels something like forever.__

" _Someone else," Dean babbles before they can snatch the chance away again. He shouldn't, he knows, be capable of speech; his lungs are shredded, his ribs nothing but spiked debris lodged in mangled organs. "Anybody else._ Please. _"_

" _Anybody? Sam? Castiel?"_

_Dean hesitates for too long. The compression this time lasts only an instant- but it's like a teaser trailer, a preview of what's to come, and it's enough to push Dean over the edge. "Yes," he says noiselessly, lips mouthing the word. It's enough for Raphael._

_The pressure lifts completely and Dean thinks that he nearly passes out with relief. He lies shuddering, shaking, cold sweat on hot skin. He keeps his arms and legs spread out, too afraid to move in case he makes the pain worse._

" _Your father held out, you know," Raphael says conversationally. "Over one hundred years under Alastair's tools, and still he held out. You failed to do the same. What does that say about you?"_

" _I did what you asked," Dean gasps, "now let me go."_

" _No, Dean," Raphael says. "You did what you were_ told,  _and you took far too long in doing it. Your offer is not accepted."_

 _And then the weight is back, all of it in one drop, and he doesn't know what they've done but the pressure is wrapping around him now, not so much pushing down on him as_ squeezing _, giant hands picking him up and clenching. Dean feels bones begin to break, feels blood fill his mouth and gush from his ears._

_**Dean?** _

" _But remember this, Dean," Raphael says before Dean's eardrums are ruptured and he cannot hear anymore. "Remember that you'd have betrayed them for us."_

_**Dean? Where are you?** _

Dean struggles to force his way back into reality. Feeing blindly for Cas' presence, he teleports to his side, head still ringing and the ghost of a broken rib still scraping against his heart.

 _ **Here,**_ Dean mumbles. His vision is flooded with white light, but he thinks he can see the outlines of the room fading into place.

 _ **Sam's not here,**_ Cas says, and so Dean lets himself drop down into plain sight.

"How're you holding up?" Cas says.

"Super," Dean manages to get out. The memory is finally starting to peel away from him, and he lets out a long, shaky breath as the room around him becomes a plain motel room, nothing more. Cas has a hand on Dean's shoulder, half holding him up. The touch helps Dean ground himself, gives him something to hang onto. Dean raises his own hand to close over Cas' for a moment. Maybe it's wrong, but right now, he needs it.

"It's alright," Cas says, but Dean can feel fear pulsing from him. "You're alright."

"I know," Dean says, dropping Cas' hand from his shoulder and straightening up. "See? Fine now." He pulls on a grin that Cas clearly, with good reason, doesn't believe.

"Is it reversible?" Cas asks. "What they did to you?"

Dean doesn't know, but he's not banking on the answer being yes. "I'll make it work."

"That's not what I asked."

"Only answer I've got," Dean shrugs. The emotion's gone now, everything firmly back in place. It doesn't feel like anything was ever wrong. "Where's Sam?" he asks.

"Getting pizza," Cas says, and it brings a slight smile to Dean's face. Pizza's always been their 'holy-crap-how-did-we-escape-that?!' food, and Dean's weirdly pleased to see that Sam's carrying the tradition on.

"I know the last place stunk of Lilith cooties, but did you take a friggin' Concord or something?" Dean asks, glancing around. This isn't the motel they faced off against Lilith in. "It's been what, ten minutes?"

Cas looks at him, his expression unreadable. When Dean focuses on Cas, he finds sympathy _,_ nestling close to anxiety _._ Super _._

"It's been three and a half hours," Cas says. Dean's instinct is to call bullshit, but Cas pulls out his phone and holds it up to show Dean the time. Rather than dwell on how fucking  _terrifying_ that is, Dean changes the subject. They should almost certainly talk about what happened back in that last motel room, but it's been the kind of day that leaves your bones aching to fall to the ground and just be done with it all.

Dean opts for an easier choice of topic.

"So a deal, huh?" he says, leaning against the wall.

"Apparently."

"She'd call whole thing off? Angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole nine?"

"So she said," Cas says. It doesn't sound like he believes it. "Sam thinks she's scared."

"What's an alpha bitch like Lilith got to be scared of?"

"I don't know. All-"

The door opens and Dean's booted out of visibility. He expects to see Sam holding pizza; unfortunately, it's Ruby.

It feels like forever since Dean last saw her properly. He knows she's around- sometimes when Sam and Cas book separate rooms, Dean finds Ruby wearing one of Sam's shirts like a nightdress, eating cereal in front of the TV as he showers- but Dean can't remember the last time she worked a hunt with them, or even said 'hi' to Cas.

" _You weird her out,"_ Dean remembers Sam saying. Well, anything that weirds a demon out is A-okay in his books.

"Ruby," Cas acknowledges.

"Hey," she says feebly, and  _back the fuck up._ Since when does Ruby do anything 'feebly'? Ruby's the bastard lovechild of Poison Ivy and The Bride from Kill Bill, and Dean's seen her eat two family-sized packets of salted popcorn in a row just to prove that she can. But now she's quiet and pale and, despite the undeniable monstrosity of her true face, she looks somehow vulnerable.

 _ **What's up with hellspawn?**_ Dean frowns.

 _ **I don't know,**_ Cas says.

"Is everything alright?" Cas asks Ruby.

"Wonderful," Ruby says with a tight smile. She shuts the door behind her.

 _ **If she mounts you, hit her with a lamp,**_ Dean advises. He moves slightly closer to Cas, feeling his wings flare out protectively behind him. He has no idea  _what_ he and Cas are now, but he's certain that Ruby would be a very unwelcome addition.

"Do you know the single worst thing that can happen to a demon?" Ruby asks Castiel.

 _ **They have to put up with Sam's morning breath?**_ Dean suggests. Cas continues to ignore him.

"Angels," Ruby answers herself. "An angel would turn me to dust so much as look at me. I  _knew_  something was up with that redhead chick, but I didn't think it was  _angels_ until Sam turned up post-Alastair like a kid who's just been told Santa's real. I've been trying to stay out of dodge, keep myself off the Host's radar, and what do you do? You summon an  _archangel_."

"And the worst part?" Ruby continues, sounding more stressed than Dean's ever heard her. "The very worst part is that I have to say thank you."

Dean blinks; that isn't how he was expecting that sentence to end. Cas seems equally confused.

"You don't owe me any thanks," Cas tells Ruby, in a tentative stab at reassurance.

"Trust me, I wouldn't be saying it if I didn't need to," Ruby says. She sighs heavily. "Fuck, do you have any alcohol?"

"I don't think so," Cas says. Dean has succeeded at getting Cas to try whiskey, but he's failed dismally at actually getting him to like it.

"Figures," Ruby says, pushing a hand through her hair. "Never mind. Here's how this is going to work: I'm going to talk, and you're going to nod and say 'I understand'. None of this leaves this room."

"I understand," Cas says.

"I thought Sam could do it," Ruby says, sinking down onto Cas' single bed. "I honestly thought he was strong enough to take her out."

Dean's really not great with talking about his feelings- but compared to Ruby, he's a fourteen year old with a MySpace page. It takes her a good ten seconds to talk again.

"If you want to stick around," Ruby says, her voice strained, "that's okay with me."

"What do you mean?"

Ruby hisses out a breath between her teeth. "I  _said_ don't talk," she says. "I mean that I know I was hardly on board with you trailing after me and Sam, but… maybe I was wrong, okay? So yeah, this is me giving consent for you to turn our dynamic duo into the Three Musketeers. You get me?"

"I… think so?" he says.

 _ **Guess we'd better get you booked in for that tattoo, huh?**_ Dean says. The emotion he gets from Cas in response different to happiness, more deep-rooted than delight, and it takes Dean a moment to place it for what it is: a sense of belonging.

On the road with a demi-angel, his demi-demon brother, and a full-blown daughter of Lucifer probably isn't the best place Cas could have chosen to set up house, but that's what's happened. Cas has somehow found his way into the family business, but he hasn't taken anybody's place; he's found his own, like there's been an empty space labelled 'Cas' waiting for him all this time. It's a strange development, sure, but Dean finds that he can't imagine a life without Cas. He doesn't even want to try.

"You saved Sam's life today," Ruby says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I can get on board with that."

"I understand," Cas repeats after a beat, and Ruby flops backward on the bed in obvious relief.

"You'd better not have told him to get meat feast," she mumbles into the pillow.

"Why not?"

"It's the worst pizza there  _is_. I don't get why you never do the logical thing and order ham and pineapple."

"Because fruit on pizza is an abomination."

 _ **Damn straight,**_ Dean says with no small amount of pride.  _Taught him everything he knows._

* * *

Ruby starts to show up more often and hang around for longer. It's like things went from Sam-and-Ruby and Cas (with Dean banging on the glass) to Sam-and-Cas with occasional visits from Ruby (with Dean somewhere in the middle), and now it's Sam-and-Cas-and-Ruby (and Dean's still not sure where he fits in, but it's undeniably preferable to before).

Dean keeps meaning to bring up the kiss, but there always seems to be something more important going on. Either Sam and Ruby are around, or Cas is busy concentrating on research, or it's late at night and Dean doesn't think it's fair to spring that kind of thing on Cas when he's tired. But, so slowly that the transition is more of a gradient than an observable change, their relationship shifts into the kind of thing Dean swore it would never become. Alone with Anna, Dean's oath had seemed so simple to stick to- but, then again, it's very easy to quit smoking when there are no cigarettes around.

Now, when they sit on the sofa and talk, Cas is next to Dean rather than opposite him. At first, Dean keeps his hands to himself, but then he tries resting one- so lightly that it's barely detectable- on Cas' knee. Nothing bad happens. The next day, Cas moves close enough that Dean can feel the heat of his body. It doesn't take long until there's no gap between them at all- Cas pressed tightly to Dean, Dean's fingers resting in the gaps between Cas' ribs like the two were designed for each other.

And so Dean figures, why mention it? If it's working out, it's working out, and there's no point in complicating it with labels or awkward conversations. And if, every now and again, when a case goes badly or the sun coming up tomorrow starts to feel like a possibility rather than a certainty, Dean finds his lips brushing against Cas'- then, well, they're not exactly doing anything  _wrong._ After the psychological bomb that went off after the archangel fiasco, he knows it's pretty damn obvious when Heaven really want something to stop.

February rolls around, and Cas gets his first taste of vampires when they encounter a nest outside Cincinnati. He takes out the leader of the pack himself, swinging the machete like he was born with it in his hand. They work a couple of vengeful spirit cases- twenty-four hour 'identify, salt and burn' jobs- but their main priority is demons. As stomach-turning as Dean finds it, Sam's  _training_.

Dean dreamwalks with Sam twice more. Sam'd be an awesome designer for Heaven, Dean thinks- he has no idea whether the places they find themselves in are really out there somewhere, or whether Sam made them up, but they're dazzling either way. It's always nice to spend a few hours with Sam, watching birds swim across a lake or staring up at a star-dotted sky. Dean's reluctant to spoil that rare calm with talk of things he doesn't want to think about, but he kinda has to.

"What is this, Demon Week?" Dean says one day. "You've taken out three demons in four days, and Ruby's like some freaky second shadow. You stepping it up or something?"

"Actually, yeah, kind of," Sam says. "Ruby said she'd let me get complacent- that she hadn't realised how strong Lilith was. She's driving me hard, man. I appreciate it."

"Can't you use the knife?"

"You think that'd work on a monster of Lilith's calibre? Really?"

No, not really, but this psychic crap  _still_  freaks Dean out. Hunting with Cas had been gradually pulling Sam away from his reliance on powers he shouldn't actually have, and seeing Sam turn his attention back to them makes Dean's skin prickle.

And apparently, he's not the only one that's noticed. The next afternoon, as Cas is drawing out a Devil's trap and Ruby and Sam are talking through the plan, Dean hears a familiar whoosh of wings and turns around.

"Hey," he greets Inias. "What's up?"

Inias doesn't look happy to be there; then again, Inias rarely looks happy these days. "I've been told to deliver you a message," he says.

"Which is…?"

"We know that Sam is getting stronger. What we don't know is how."

"Practice makes perfect, right? That's actually what's going on now," Dean says, gesturing at the setup behind him. "There's a demon causing trouble in a bar nearby that they're gonna try and lure over."

Dean's no advocate for demon rights, but it does seem weird to be picking them out and using them for target practice. They're not even asking after Lilith now, they're just timing how long it takes Sam to make them spark out.

Inias is shaking his head. "No. There has to be something more than that. Sam's… condition," he says- and Dean understands that they're both fully aware of the bad blood in Sam's veins- "wouldn't allow him to make such improvements without something else playing a part."

"Then I got no idea," Dean says. "Honestly."

"I know you don't," Inias reassures him. "All I'm saying is that if you do find out, let us know as quickly as possible." He pauses, as if listening to something. " _Quicker_ than possible, apparently."

"Sure thing," Dean says. He explains a little more about what the plan is for the day- keeping Heaven updated on what he's doing is one of his orders, and he's not liable to start breaking them for the sheer fun of a trauma-induced breakdown- and Inias says he'll report it back to Uriel.

"Hey," Dean says, catching Inias' arm before he can leave. "You okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay?" Dean says. Inias looks drained, dejected, like he doesn't want to be doing what he's doing. He conjures up a tired smile, bitterness crinkling at the edges.

"I'm an angel, Dean," he says. "I'm not allowed to be anything else."

* * *

A few days later, Dean pops up in Sam's room to check if he's up yet and finds him with Ruby. They're both fully dressed, though, which he's counting as a blessing. Ruby has her arms draped around Sam's neck, her head tilted up towards him.

"Three days," she's saying. "Max."

"Three," Sam repeats.

"Probably closer to two. Hey, I don't want to go either," she objects, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Sam's face. "I wouldn't if I wasn't sure I had the right guy."

Sam nods. "Okay. Good luck."

"With any luck, I won't need it. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

Sam snorts. "Yeah, because that's always worked out."

He lowers his forehead to rest against Ruby's, her fingers tangling in his, and Dean takes that as his cue to leave.

 _ **Hey,**_ he tells Cas, before dropping down into visibility. "Ruby's flying the nest again."

"Where's she going?" Cas asks.

"Hunting something, I think. Some _one_. No idea who."

"I'll ask Sam," Cas suggests.

When Sam knocks on Cas' door twenty minutes later, Dean reminds him not to ask outright.

 _ **You don't know she's gone yet, remember?**_ Dean says.

 _ **Yes, I know,**_ Cas says irritably.

Dean's gotten a lot better at pushing back his panic these past few weeks, learning to handle himself when Heaven's still in his head but no longer in his heart. He reports back to Inias regularly, makes sure he never says or does anything that goes against his orders, and tries to stamp on any overly blasphemous thoughts before they can have an effect. It's not foolproof- he's slipped four or five times, only dragged back from the memory by Cas calling for him hours later- but it's better. After all, Dean's the king of grinning and bearing it.

It does mean, though, that he's putting a whole lot more effort into doing as he's told, and that includes making sure his presence isn't found out. Cas, who's managed to keep it hidden for five months now, is clearly annoyed, but whatever. Dean's taking no chances.

"Where's Ruby?" Cas asks.

"Demon hunt," Sam says. "She thinks she's got Lilith's lieutenant. We're talking half-employee, half-lover, and one hundred and ten percent evil."

"That's ten percent more than is physically possible."

"Pretty sure this guy manages it," Sam says, screwing his face up. "Either way, Ruby's managed to find out which town he's in, and she's trying to pin him down further. He can lead us to Lilith."

They've kept in regular contact with Chuck, who tries his hardest to be unreachable and has, on at least one occasion, picked up the phone and pretended to be his own voicemail message. He says that has hasn't seeing anything regarding Lilith since their showdown in the motel, and whether that's true or not, the end result's the same: they don't know where to find her. Sam's all pumped up with no demon to kill.

"So what do we do until then?" Cas asks.

"Relax?" Sam suggests. Cas looks at him, and Sam's shoulders sag.

"We're gonna end up hunting something, aren't we?" Sam says.

"Not if you don't want," Cas says carefully.

 _ **Ruby told him to lie low,**_ Dean muses.  _ **Ten bucks says he finds a job within the next two hours.**_

_**You don't think he'll do as she said?** _

_**I don't think he's actually capable of sitting around and doing nothing.**_ When you've spent years bouncing from one job to the next, the idea of sitting in a motel and twiddling your thumbs becomes pretty much unbearable. Even as a human, Dean was carrying enough guilt that the idea of doing  _nothing_  while the thing that killed his mother was still out there- or, later, while the thing that wanted his brother dead was still trailing blood-red fingernails over some poor sap's corpse- never felt like an option. If Dean knows his brother, Sam's feeling the same way.

Two hours and fourteen minutes later, Sam holds up a newspaper clipping. "Tennis coach shoots himself between games," he says by way of explanation. "No history of mental health issues."

 _ **In his defence, that was over two hours,**_ Cas says as Dean cackles victoriously.

None of them have ever heard of a crocotta, but that doesn't stop them cutting off its head. Beheading, Dean's found, works for most things.

* * *

Ruby's due back the next day, so they agree to take it easy for twenty-four hours. Sam teaches Cas how to bluff at poker, Dean throwing in the occasional piece of advice. Months of training have rendered Cas a passable liar, and his natural affinity for keeping his face completely blank makes him a damn good player.

Sam gets dispatched to the store to buy lunch and restock the first aid kit, and Dean takes advantage of his absence to manifest for a little while. If he thought being a teenager whose date wouldn't give it up was hard, not technically existing ninety percent of the time is fucking torturous.

Dean rests his head against Cas' shoulder, and after a moment's thought, he lets his lips brush the skin at the base of Cas' neck. Dean can sense the rush of emotion the touch elicits from Cas without even trying, and it brings a lazy grin to his face.

"When are you getting the tattoo again?" he asks, looking up at Cas.

"I meant to have it done while Ruby was away, but we had the crocotta case," Cas says, arm curling around Dean's back. Dean notices that Cas keeps his arm well below where Dean's wings attach, and wonders for the hundredth time just what the hell Cas is seeing there.

"And now we need to be ready to go at any moment," Cas continues, "so I'm not sure. I'll get it soon."

"Fair enough," Dean agrees. He chuckles. "Man, you are so gonna scream."

"I don't do screaming."

"You will. Or swearing."

"I don't swear.

"Five bucks says you at least say 'ow'."

"You keep betting. Do you even have money?"

Dean elects to ignore that. "Where are you thinking of getting it?" he asks instead.

"Where did you get yours?"

Oh, that's just too easy. His face still pressed into Cas' neck, Dean reaches out, takes Cas' free hand, and presses their interlocked fingers to the neck of his t-shirt. He slowly drags Cas' hand down, pulling the material with it, until the familiar black lines of the sigil come into view. He can hear Cas' breathing hitch, and he's pretty sure his does the same when Cas gently brushes a thumb over the inked design.

"I see," Cas says, his voice thick. He dips his head so that his cheek brushes against Dean's, his stubble scraping against Dean's skin, and Dean will never be able to say why that's as hot as it is. Dean twists his head up and his lips find Cas' as Cas yanks him closer, grip tightening until Dean's more or less in his lap. Cas, as Dean has discovered time and time again, is one hell of a quick learner.

Five minutes later, they get a phone call from Sam. Dean is  _this_ close to telling Cas to break the age old rule hunters' rule of Always Answer Your Goddamn Phone, but Cas gives a long-suffering sigh and peels himself away from Dean. Dean's wings flutter indignantly.  _I feel you, man,_ he tells them.

 _ **He might be hurt,**_ Cas points out as he listens to whatever Sam's saying, which makes Dean feel appropriately ashamed to quit complaining. He does consider pointing out that Sam's more likely to say that he took out three monsters and needs help hiding the bodies, but Cas is busy pulling incredulous faces at the phone.

" _No_ ," Castiel says. "I told you I would ring if I did." He listens. "See you then."

"Where is he?" Dean asks.

"Five minutes away. He wanted to know if we'd heard from Ruby."

"What, he couldn't wait five damn minutes to find out for himself?"

"It would seem not."

Dean groans and grudgingly accepts that this makeout session is over. "It's probably for the best. Might've been difficult to explain if Sam walked in on that."

"You'd have been invisible," Cas sulks, running a hand over his hair and somehow messing it up even more. " _You_ would have been fine."

"I'd have laughed," Dean admits. Cas has returned himself to some semblance of normalcy by the time Sam arrives, who's weirdly twitchy.

"She said three days  _max,_ " Sam complains twice in ten minutes.

"It hasn't even been a full three days yet," Cas counters. Sam doesn't take much notice- he's tetchy all afternoon, snapping rather than speaking and jumping at the slightest sound.

 _ **Someone's on his period,**_ Dean remarks.

_**Men don't menstruate.** _

_**You know what I mean.** _

Evening comes, and Ruby doesn't come with it. Cas sleeps but Sam doesn't, alternating between pacing the room and staring at the wall. He's kinda giving Dean the creeps.

"Dude, she's got you on a  _leash_ ," he says disapprovingly when Sam checks his phone for the fourteenth time. Sam, of course, doesn't reply.

Dean isn't bothered until morning rolls around and they still haven't heard from Ruby, and even then he can't bring himself to care all that much. He can't imagine anyone keeping Ruby anywhere against her will.

"Okay, this is ridiculous," Sam declares at about three in the afternoon. "Where  _is_ she?"

"Why would I know?" Cas asks irritably.

"She said three days," Sam grumbles.

 _ **He should make that his catchphrase,**_ Dean says to Cas. The day drags- as much as Dean loves his brother, he's unbearable to be around when he's in a bad mood, and right now he's  _definitely_ in a bad mood.

It's nearly one A.M when they get the call. Sam answers scarily fast, but his relief is short-lived.

"Who is this?" he demands. Cas looks over at Sam questioningly, but Sam turns away.

"Is she okay?" Sam asks. He listens to the response and his eyes darken. "If you've hurt her, I swear, you will regret that decision." He grinds his teeth at whatever they say next. "Just tell me where."

Whoever's on the other end speaks for a while longer and then hangs up. Sam grabs his coat. "Get in the car," he says, snatching the keys up from the table.

"What's going on?" Cas asks as he follows, Dean ghosting along next to him.

"Ruby's been captured," Sam says. "That was the demon she's been hunting. He told me where they are."

 _ **Yeah, really not liking the sound of that,**_ Dean says to Cas.

"Is this really a good idea?" Cas says to Sam, who's already yanking open the car door. He pauses just long enough to look Cas in the eye.

"This is what she was hunting, Cas. This demon is our best lead, Lilith's last line of defence, and it's given me its postcode. Yeah, I'd say this is a good idea."

 _ **Lilith's BFF should be turning tail and running, not ringing up to invite us over,**_ Dean argues as Sam drives. He's pretty sure they're being blackmailed by a demon using another demon, and that doesn't seem right.  _ **Seriously, what does this thing want? What's its game?**_

 _ **I suppose we'll find out,**_ Cas says grimly. Dean can see the jut of the demon knife sticking out of his waistband, knows that Cas keeps the silver dagger from Uriel's arsenal strapped to his calf, and he takes some reassurance in that.

Sam pulls up at a 'gentleman's club' twenty-five minutes later.

 _ **Are you kidding me?**_ Dean says in disbelief, but Sam and Cas are already tumbling out of the car. The sign above the door is glowing pink neon, the only light in the darkness. Dean follows Sam and Cas into the building, both of them gripping weapons. They enter a huge space with platforms and poles, but the pounding music that Dean's come to associate with these places is absent, leaving the place in eerie silence. That's not the only thing here that's out of place.

Dean does a quick scan; there are twenty-one bodies on the floor.

Six are 'dancers', going by their costumes. One looks like a security guy, and Dean's guessing the rest were patrons. He's pretty sure five of them made up a bachelor party.

"Sorry, lady," he says out loud, "but I don't think your fiancée's gonna make it."

There are puddles and rivers stretching across the floor, tinted first blue then purple then black by the colourful lights. The air is thick with metallic stench, and when Sam shines a torch over the walls, they're splattered with crimson. Dean picks up waves of revulsion from Cas, tinged with anxiety.

Sam nods towards a black door that's been left standing open. Dean's learned two things from cases like this: one, that a door standing open is never a good sign; and two, that you're going to have to go through it anyway. Cas and Sam stay close to the wall as they approach, and despite their attempts to muffle their footsteps, the sound echoes throughout the room.

 _ **Hold it,**_ Dean says, and he slips ahead of them to check it's safe.

"Wait," he hears Cas whisper as Dean goes through the door. The footsteps stop and Dean is faced with a winding staircase, descending into pitch blackness.

 _ **Be careful,**_ Cas says as Dean hurries down the steps.

 _ **Don't come down till I give the all-clear,**_ Dean warns.

_**How am I supposed to tell that to Sam?** _

_**Find something, I don't know.**_ It's completely black down here, not even a flicker of light, and Dean holds his breath without knowing why. He walks straight into a door-  _fucking useless angel powers_ \- and when he tries the handle, he finds it locked. Dean doesn't know how long Cas and Sam will hang back for, and so he teleports inside.

Dean opens his eyes and finds himself standing in the corner of what was once a storage space, boxes and machinery now pushed to the side and blood splattering the walls. There's a clearing in the middle where they've got Ruby tied to a chair, clearly unconscious but kept upright by the thick rope around her waist. There are men lining the room- eight of them, and seven are security staff going by the uniforms and demons going by the faces. Dean thinks the eighth must be a hostage until he turns slightly, and Dean can see that the frail old man with grey hair is the worst-looking of the lot.

 _ **Demons,**_ Dean lets Cas know, wings stirring uncomfortably behind him.  _ **Eight at least. They've got Ruby tied up- she's out cold.**_

_**Is she alright?** _

_**I don't know. Stay upstairs until I say it's okay. This guy's a big time bad, Cas.** _

There's a chance that the demon will be able to see Dean, but there's no doubt he'll be able to see Cas. The longer Dean can keep him and Sam away, the better.

The grey-haired man finishes talking to one of the others and turns back to face Ruby. His eyes lock with Dean's and his mouth twists into an expression of shock and Dean knows, without a doubt, that this demon has seen him.

Dean's half a heartbeat from teleporting the fuck out of there when the demon splays a hand out, and Dean finds himself pinned against the wall. Right, because he'd missed  _that_ so much. He struggles against the invisible grip, but the demon twists his hand slightly and pins Dean even tighter. Not even his wings can move.

"Uh, sir?" one of the possessed guards asks. "What's going on?"

"Shut up," the demon says easily, his eyes roaming over Dean's face. The seven guards are clearly confused, seeing nothing where Dean stands but a stretch of blank wall.

"Who are you?" the demon asks curiously, moving towards Dean. He walks with a shuffling limp, the kind his vessel probably used a walking stick for.

"Fuck you," Dean wheezes. The demon looks at Dean for a long time and grins, a slow and malicious ooze across his face.

" _Dean,_ " he breathes. "My, oh my. Lilith will be ever so angry to find out her prize fish flopped back into the sea. And you found a halo to boot! Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Asmodeus."

"Nice name. Get bullied at school much?"

Asmodeus chuckles. "Lilith did say you liked trying to be funny," he muses, stepping close enough that Dean can smell his breath. It's a foul mixture, a sweet and cloying tang plastered over the stench of rotting eggs and decaying flesh.

"She said you were pretty too. She always did have good taste," Asmodeus continues, raising a frail hand and dragging his fingertips along Dean's jaw.

"Sorry, I don't do demons," Dean says, trying to jerk away.

"No?" Asmodeus asks. "How would you know? Think, Dean, of the men and women you've slept with. All those one-night stands, all those drunken fumbles… if there was a dark cloud of sulphur and hate sat at the controls, if it was a twisted soul from Hell itself that was making you moan, would you have been able to tell?"

"You sure talk dirty for a fugly old guy."

"What can I say?" Asmodeus grins, showing yellowed and crumbling teeth. "Some call me depraved, others twisted-  _debauched_ , that's my favourite- but what's in a label? I like what I like, and I like a  _lot_." He leans in close again, presses his lips to Dean's ear.

"And I like it best when they scream," Asmodeus whispers before he pulls away.

"The people upstairs," Dean says, not bothering to hide his disgust. "That your work?"

"Some," Asmodeus says mildly. "My boys had their fun too. I have a way of inspiring iniquity in my nearest and dearest."

"What about her?" Dean says, his eyes moving to focus on Ruby. She's still passed out, and Dean can see matted blood at the back of her hair. "Did she tell you she had a headache or something?"

"She was snooping," Asmodeus says disapprovingly. "I'm all for voyeurism, but when those peeping Toms are going to go scampering back to a force like Sam Winchester, it becomes decidedly less enjoyable."

"Sir, who are you talking to?" one of the other demons blurts out. Without looking, Asmodeus stretches a hand out and the demon's head cracks off the wall, body crumpling to the ground.

"Don't interrupt me," Asmodeus says softly.

 _ **Sam's insisting on coming downstairs and I'm running out of excuses,**_ Dean hears from Castiel.

 _ **Think of something,**_ Dean hisses back.  _ **Knock him out if you have to. Do**_ **not** _ **come down here.**_

_**Dean?** _

Asmodeus turns his head like he's heard something interesting. He peers at Dean intently and Dean slams up every mental block he can, but whatever Asmodeus is doing is different to how the angels play it. Asmodeus worms his way in through cracks, slipping around Dean's edges to tease out the pieces of his mind.

"You're not Sam's," Asmodeus hums. "I'd guessed as much. You must belong to the exquisite creature he travels with, then?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Dean says through gritted teeth. Asmodeus laughs suddenly, delightedly.

" _Dean,_ " he says, sounding scandalised. "Your ward?  _Really_? You make me feel downright wholesome."

"How about I stick a knife through your throat?" Dean says. "That kinky enough for you?"

"An interesting threat, considering  _I_ currently have  _you_ pinned to a wall." Asmodeus hobbles over to the edge of the room and grabs an old wooden chair. He drags it over and straddles it, folding his bony arms over the back and leaning forward to stare at Dean. Yeah, Dean's done with this bullshit.

"Inias!" he yells. "Anna! Uriel!"

"Don't waste your breath," Asmodeus snorts. "They can't hear you. You don't get around as much as I do without learning a thing or two."

Dean looks at the blood on the walls, and understanding dawns.  _Sigils._

Asmodeus sees him looking and hums in agreement. "We didn't know Castiel had you perched on his shoulder- I must remember to tell Lilith that when I next I see her- but when he and Sam brought an archangel down to face Lilith, it showed us how cosy they were getting with the Host. These days, no demon worth their salt- sorry, I never could resist a pun- would even  _look_  at a human without protective sigils slapped on the walls."

 _ **Dean, Sam is-**_ Cas begins.

 _ **Don't talk,**_ Dean says immediately _._ _ **It's not safe.**_

 _ **Are you hurt?**_ Dean doesn't reply, and luckily Cas doesn't say anything else. Dean can't tell if Asmodeus heard anything; he looks smug, but he has ever since he laid eyes on Dean.

"So where  _is_  Castiel?" Asmodeus asks. "I can't imagine you'd stray far from your beau's side- after all, it  _is_  Valentine's Day tomorrow."

"No idea," Dean says.

"I do know what being a guardian angel entails," Asmodeus says. "You know where he is. Tell me."

The creak on the stairs seems much louder than it should be, and Dean freezes in place.

"You brought him to me?" Asmodeus says in wonder. "Dean, how thoughtful of you. I'm not going to harm Sam- boss' orders, I'm afraid- but I think that getting to know Castiel could be a very pleasurable experience."

"You say you know guardians?" Dean says softly. "Then you'll know what I can do if you hurt Cas _._ You scratch him, you  _look_ at him the wrong way, and I will set off a nuclear bomb in your chest. We clear?"

"As if I was going to ruin such a pretty face," Asmodeus sniffs. "You need to broaden your horizons, Dean. There are more ways than killing to have a good time."

Dean hears a quiet click; Sam and Cas have tried the door and found it locked.

 _ **Cas,**_ **run!** Dean tries desperately, but it's too late. Asmodeus holds up a withered hand, getting up from the chair.

"Go," he says lazily as the door flies open, and six demons throw themselves at Sam and Cas.

 _ **Run!**_ Dean tries again. Cas buries Ruby's knife in one demon's chest and its body jerks sickeningly, lights sparking and going out. The demons are wrapping their hands around Sam's neck and waist and hips and legs, swarming over him like spiders.

"Only Sam!" Asmodeus barks. "Don't touch the other one!"

The demons might not understand their orders, but they obey them all the same. Asmodeus flexes his fingers and Cas finds himself pushed hard against the wall, unable to move yet completely unharmed. Demons, it seems, have found ways to work around the issue of angelic protection. Asmodeus holds Cas and Dean in place simultaneously without breaking a sweat.

"Cas!" Sam shouts as the demons overwhelm him. "Cas!"

"Lock him somewhere," Asmodeus says. "The bitch too. I've got no use for her now; I've gotten my claws into something  _much_ more worthwhile," he says, looking at Castiel.

The demons drag Sam, still fighting and shouting, from the room.

 _ **Are you alright?**_ Cas says. _ **What's he doing?**_

 _ **Yeah, I'm fine- we're gonna be fine,**_ Dean says, not caring if Asmodeus hears. He can feel Cas' fear, swirled with a furious anger, and that matters more.  _ **Nobody's gonna hurt you, I promise.**_

Asmodeus chortles. "Not many demons can read your style of link, you know," he says, leaning against the wall. "Luckily for me, things of a private and intimate nature are rather my forte."

"What are you doing to Dean?" Cas asks, eyes flickering uselessly around the room.

"Your care is sickening," Asmodeus says, screwing his face up. "Sticking your tongue down your ward's throat is one thing, Dean, but  _courting_ them is a whole new kind of perversion."

 _ **I'm fine,**_ Dean repeats to Cas, forcing himself not to rise to the bait.

"What're we waiting for?" Dean sneers at Asmodeus. "What is this, performance anxiety?"

"Foreplay," Asmodeus counters. He drums his fingers against the wall and hums a merry tune. Thirty seconds later, one of the possessed security guards reappears.

"Locked in separate rooms," he reports. "She's still out- he's conscious, but only just."

"Good," Asmodeus says. "Now, Dean, I suggest you pay attention."

Dean's ready with an insult, but then Asmodeus opens his mouth and angry black smoke bellows out, coiling and snapping in the air. Cas' eyes widen and Dean feels fear pulse from him afresh.

"Dean!" Cas shouts, both through their link and out loud, but it's no good; Dean has nothing to say and no way to stop this. The smoke whips around and dives towards Cas, forcing itself past his lips and down his throat. Cas' terror is overwhelming as Asmodeus takes him over, his voice screaming Dean's name over and over again in Dean's head- and all Dean can think, in a dulled and detached way, is that Cas was supposed to get his anti-possession tattoo soon.

Cas' fear is suddenly dampened, smothered, and that makes bile rise in Dean's throat. The old man's body lies discarded on the floor and Dean can actually  _watch_ the demon's face mould over Cas', see the different features settle into place as Asmodeus gets used to his new body.

Dean's knows enough people get possessed over the years- his father and Sam included- and he knows it's not an easy thing to spot. How quickly you figure it out isn't a sign of how well you know the person; maybe it's a sign of how well you know demons, but it's not something any hunter would be blamed for not picking up on straight away.

With Cas, though, Dean  _knows._ Even if he hadn't seen it happen, even if Cas was on the other side of the world, Dean would know that something's wrong. Their link feels clogged, dirtied, like a pipe congested by built-up scum. The familiar presence that's been Dean's constant since he got his wings is distorted, and it's more than disturbing, it's frightening. It's fucking  _terrifying,_ actually, but Dean's trying not to show that.

 _ **Cas?**_ he tries. Cas is still in there  _somewhere,_ that much he knows. Cas holds a finger up in a 'please wait' gesture, his face screwing up. In the corner, the possessed security guard watches without comment.

 _ **Hello, Dean,**_ the eventual reply comes, and that is  _not_ Castiel.  _ **I had to take the phone away from Castiel, sorry. He put up a bit of a fight, but he quietened down once I told him what I'd do to you if he didn't.**_

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Dean begins to recite against hope. Cas opens his eyes and smiles a wide, sickening smile that doesn't belong on his lips.

"Sorry, champ," he says, and the incongruence between Cas' voice and Asmodeus' words is the stuff of nightmares. Mentally, Dean reassigns the thing in front of him to be 'Asmodeus', because that's the only way this can make sense. "I'm a little tougher than that."

"Get out of him," Dean growls.

"You make it sound so dirty," Asmodeus murmurs. "I approve." He runs his hands down Cas' body, letting them linger against his hips. "I like this one, you know. So nubile, so virile. What do you think?"

He presses himself up against Dean. Dean turns his face as far away as he can, spitting out curse words.

"So hurtful," Asmodeus says, all fake innocence. He draws back, but he doesn't let Dean drop. Even with his enhanced endurance, Dean's muscles are starting to burn.

"He likes you," Asmodeus tells Dean, eyes drifting up like he's deep in thought- and he  _is,_ but the thoughts aren't his. "He likes you a  _lot._ There might even be another word beginning with 'l' that fits better. Have we found a new form of Stockholm syndrome, I wonder?"

"What do you want?" Dean says through gritted teeth. Asmodeus delights in ignoring him.

"What a broken little birdy I find myself in," he says thoughtfully. "Hospital was lonely, though he'll never admit it. He was so very  _lonely._ It's sad. He- you are going to  _love_ this," Asmodeus guffaws.

"What I'd 'love' is seeing you flame-grilled," Dean snarls.

"Oh?" Asmodeus says, spreading his arms. "You know, you pose an interesting question- what happens when a guardian attacks their own ward? Are you obligated to destroy yourself? We'll test that theory soon, I think- but first, I want to tell you this. You'll like it, it's funny."

Dean starts to object, but Asmodeus presses on. "When Castiel was an ickle little boy, when he was being dragged from doctor to head doctor to  _witch_ doctor, there was one thing that people always told him to make him feel better. One little phrase that stuck in his head, that he clung onto when there was nothing else. Do you want to know what it is?"

"Fuck you."

"Not quite!" Asmodeus says cheerily. "They told him, Dean, that angels were watching over him."

It's a pointless phrase, one that thousands of kids must get told every night, but it still makes something icy pierce Dean's gut. At first he could brush it aside- after all, he's hardly been a guardian before- but the snips and shards of ' _this isn't right_ ' that have been steadily amassing over the last five months have finally coalesced.

" _Angels don't make other angels 'less they've got something big planned."_

" _I would talk of… things, of terrible things. Of the devil and the end of the world, and of angels and God."_

" _Do you ever think about Castiel, Dean? I mean, really think about him?"_

" _I stopped having psychotherapy at eighteen years old."_

" _System's broken, boy. Heaven's shadier than anything my side could dream up."_

" _They've discharged me."_

" _I just feel like Castiel hunting with us… like it's meant to happen."_

" _Angels are watching over you."_

There's something going on here. Dean doesn't know what it is, but he knows that it involves him and Castiel, and that it's big, and that it's bad.

Asmodeus is clearly savouring in the shock on Dean's face. "That got you thinking?" he says. "Careful, angel. We don't want you getting all hot and bothered."

Because, of course, even if it  _is_ big and bad, there's not a damn thing Dean can do about it; not without welcoming in the kind of memories designed to break a person. Any loyalty he felt to Heaven is well and truly gone, sloughed from his bones, but that doesn't mean he can ever stop going through the motions. This is how things are going to stay, until Cas dies and Dean gets his reward: an eternity in the most corrupt place he knows, a place where he spent two years experiencing a new flavour of torture every single day.

"Fine," Dean says bleakly. He stops trying to hold himself up, letting his body slump around where Asmodeus has pinned him in place like a frog he's preparing to dissect. "Hit me, kill me, I don't care. You get what I'm saying? I give up. You win."

In a way, Dean thinks, it'd be easier. It'd be a relief to not worry about protecting his ward or reporting in to Heaven, to strip away their access to the emotional trip-switch inside his ribcage. The nice thing about the flames of Hell is that the pain of a burn cannot lie to you.

He's damn sure that he doesn't transmit any of that across his link to Cas, but Asmodeus knows it all the same.

"Thank you, but I was never that concerned about getting consent," Asmodeus says. "I have better things planned than murder _._ Murder is quick, brutal, detached. I want to make this slow, Dean. I want to make you  _feel_ it. I think we could play around, see what works for us. For example, if I cut myself open- peel the skin from my bones- what do you do? If your ward is the person hurting your ward, who exactly do you smite? I'd like to find out."

He can't help Cas, he can't call for backup, he can't even move. There's really only one thing left for Dean to do, and so he closes his eyes and he prays. He doesn't pray to God, or to Zachariah or Raphael, or to any other angel; he prays to one of the few things he still believes in. When things seem hopeless, when Dean is one hundred percent sure that there's no way he's getting out of it this time, there's one person who seems to come through time and time again.

He closes his eyes and he thinks  _Sammy, help me._

Asmodeus reaches down and pulls up the leg of Cas' pants, revealing the hidden dagger. "Remember the safe word," he grins at Dean, and he brings the blade to his own lips.

Before the metal can dig into the skin, the door slams open. Sam takes up most of the space, his shoulders heaving and deep red welts circling his wrists from where he's worked his way out of rope. Dean glimpses an expression of total innocence wash over Asmodeus' face before he turns away.

"Sam," he says gratefully.

"Cas," Sam sighs in relief. "Are you hurt?"

"Don't you dare, don't you  _fucking_ dare!" Dean shouts, passion and life flooding back into him. He looks around frantically, but he can't see anything he could use to his advantage. If he did manage to throw a chair or something, it'd freak Sam out- and for what? To give Asmodeus a bruise?

"I'm okay," Asmodeus says shakily, in Cas' voice, with Cas' mouth. "I think we should leave."

Sam's listening, but his attention is fixed on the old man's unmoving body.

"Where's the demon?" Sam asks slowly. A spark of hope flares in Dean's chest.

"What?" Asmodeus says.

"The demon in charge. What happened to him?" Sam asks, keeping his head down but raising his eyes to meet Asmodeus'. The spark in Deans' chest turns into a flame, one Sam is only feeding.  _C'mon, Sam,_   _you're smarter than this. You know Cas too damn well for this. C'mon, Sammy, please._

"It got away," Asmodeus says. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't use the knife?"

"I panicked," he says, and Dean could laugh with relief, could cry with it. Asmodeus hasn't realised it yet, but he's just fucked up, big time. Castiel might worry, Castiel might fight, but Castiel does not  _panic_.

"You  _panicked_?" Sam says. Asmodeus holds Sam's gaze for what feels like hours before he starts to chuckle, long and slow.

"You got me," he admits. "You're good, Sammy."

"Get out of him _,_ " Sam orders. " _Now._ "

Dean might not usually approve of Sam's psychic mojo, but right now he could damn well kiss Azazel. Sam can kill Asmodeus and keep Cas safe. It's going to be okay.

"Or what? You'll  _think_  me out of here?" Asmodeus scoffs. "Son, I'm not sure you've got the juice."

Uncertainty ripples through Dean, but he pushes it away. Sam was strong enough to take out  _Alastair_ ; how much harder can Asmodeus be?

"I'd better not kill you," Asmodeus continues. "Lilith's demanded certain privileges. That doesn't mean I can't play around with a few of your less vital organs, though. Isaac, help me put our new doll back in his box."

The demon that's been standing in the corner, so silent and still that Dean had forgotten it was there, lunges forwards and locks his hands around Sam's throat. Sam fights back- fights desperate, fights  _dirty,_ swinging elbows and knees into the demon's flesh and digging his teeth hard into its arm. Isaac grunts and releases Sam, who stumbles towards one of the dead bodies on the floor.

Sam manages to grip hold of the knife sticking out of the corpse's chest as Isaac grabs him again. Isaac pulls hard and Sam is yanked towards him, twisting at the last minute to plunge the knife deep into his throat.

"Damn," Asmodeus sighs as Isaac chokes and seizes. "I was almost fond of him."

Sam isn't listening. He tugs the knife from Isaac's neck and the demon crumples, scarlet blood pumping out from where Sam pierced the artery. Dean doesn't understand what's taking so long, why Sam's gripping Isaac in his arms and not throwing him to the ground and taking on Asmodeus.

Sam moves suddenly- but it's not towards Asmodeus, it's towards the corpse in his arms. Sam clamps his mouth to the ugly wound on Isaac's neck, and Dean finds he cannot think.

He doesn't know what's happening. Images and sounds reach him, but he can't make any sense of them. Sam's  _drinking_ the blood, he's genuinely fucking holding a demon in place so he can drink its blood, and Asmodeus is laughing, laughing harder than ever before, the sound bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the room.

Asmodeus's grip finally breaks, and Dean hits the ground. His wings burst out behind him, elated to be freed, but Dean barely notices. He can't look away from Sam, can't ignore the rivulets of red dribbling from Sam's mouth as he drinks, as he fucking  _feeds._

Sam finally lets Isaac drop and Asmodeus straightens up, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Now that you've had your snack-" he giggles. Sam looks at him with dark and furious eyes, and Asmodeus collapses to his knees.

"Wh-" he gets out, and then he's retching, choking. Sam is merciless, his lip curling into a sneer as Asmodeus lets out strangled cries of agony.

"S-stop," Asmodeus forces out between screams, like he's pushing the words through concrete just to get them heard. "P- please-"

"I don't think so," Sam says softly, and with a final burst of angry light, Asmodeus is destroyed. Dean watches his face burn away, feels the sludge of his presence melt away to leave nothing but Castiel. Some of the intensity leaves Sam and he rushes to Cas' side, crouching on the floor by him.

"Cas? Hey! Cas, you okay?"

"Sam?" Cas says unsteadily.

"Yeah, it's me. Come on, get up, you're okay now."

He stretches out a hand but Cas scrambles backwards, staring up at Sam in horror. Sam touches a finger to his lower lip, holds it out and looks at the red stickiness covering it. His eyes scream of shame, guilt and an immeasurable sadness as they move to Cas' face.

 _ **What do we do?**_ Cas says. To hear him again, as Cas and as nothing else, is a relief beyond words, but it's not one Dean has time to process.

 _ **I don't know,**_ he says, and he and Cas stand and stare as blood slowly drips down Sam's chin, a drop falling to the floor.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I'd like to apologise for the word count of this week's update. Like, woah. The next- and final!- chapter is the shortest, though, so it all evens out. Sort of.
> 
> Secondly, the incredible nekoshojo and angelsexuality from Tumblr were kind enough to draw fanart! I've attached both pieces at the bottom of this chapter.
> 
> Lastly, I just want to say thank you again. This thing is nearly over now, and I still can't believe people are actually reading it! Thank you.

 

_So I bare my skin, and I count my sins,_  
_and I close my eyes, and I take it in,_  
_and I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out for you._

_\- Bleeding Out, Imagine Dragons_

* * *

Afterwards, Dean finds that he can't remember all that much about how they got out. He remembers Sam pushing a rough hand across his jaw and it coming away smeared with red. He'd gone to wipe it on his jeans, thought better of it, and clenched his hand into a fist instead, like a kid hiding candy-wrappers.

Thinking was like walking on a wobbling platform, like borrowing somebody's glasses and watching the world turn into one giant blur. Dean had been staring at Sam, but he doesn't think he was really seeing anything.

Dean was loosely aware that Cas was watching Sam too. He doesn't know how long it was before Cas stood up- but when he did, he pushed past Sam without comment, stumbling a little as he took the first steps.

"Cas-" Sam had tried to say, but Cas was already climbing the stairs.

"Cas!" Sam called, more urgently this time, and Cas stopped mid-step. He did not turn around, but he stopped.

"Ruby," Sam said plaintively.

After that, Dean's memories all slide into each other and overlap. Someone stabbed the demon guarding the door to Ruby's room- Dean thinks it was Sam, but it might have been Cas- and Ruby slurred something or other as Sam untied her. They walked back out the way they came, picking their way around bloodied bodies as Sam carried Ruby in his arms, bridal-style. Dean remembers Sam cupping her head in one giant hand, smoothing her hair with trembling fingers. The image is burned into Dean's brain, nestled next to the loop of blood falling from Sam's lips, that one same drop falling over and over again.

Mostly, Dean remembers confusion and betrayal and anger and hurt, like jagged knives digging into him from inside and out, and he did not know and he does not know which feelings were his and which were Castiel's.

And now, sitting in the backseat of the Impala and watching the road rush towards him, Dean looks at the wheel and thinks, just for a moment, that maybe it'd be best if the car just spun off the road and just… just. Quick. Neat. But nothing's ever quick or neat, not for Dean, so he scowls and pushes the treacherous idea back to whatever polluted recess of his mind it crawled from.

Ruby was conscious by the time they got her in the car, and conscious enough to teleport away after a meaningful look from Sam told her that now  _really_ wasn't a good time. Now, it's only Sam and Cas in the car. Dean has experienced many, many awkward car journeys in his life, but he thinks this is the worst.

"How do you feel?" Sam asks, and Dean's utterly unsurprised that he spoke first. It's just like Sam to not get when a silence should remain silent, to not appreciate when something doesn't need to be said, and it's just like Sam to ask after the other person first.

"Terrible," Cas says bluntly, "but that's not the issue at hand."

"Are you kidding me? Cas, you got  _possessed._ You can't-"

"Sam," Cas says, in that commanding tone of voice that always forces the suspect to talk or Dean to shut the fuck up. "Drinking demon blood takes precedence."

That knocks the words from Sam's mouth, until his mouth tightens into a line and he nods. "Yep. Okay." He looks over at Cas, expecting him to add more. Cas does not.

"I had to," Sam says, desperation colouring his words. "Cas, I  _had_  to. My powers don't… without the blood, I'm useless. It was-  _is_ \- the only way to stop Lilith. You get that, right? Cas?"

"I'm tired, Sam," Cas says wearily. "I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Sure," Sam says, clinging onto anything Cas gives him. "Of course. We can talk when you wake up."

Cas turns away from Sam, resting his head against his window, and switches his attention to Dean.

 _ **What do you think?**_ Cas asks. Dean's leaning heavily against one side of the car, legs folded beneath him, and his wings have wrapped themselves around his shoulders in what feels like an almost comforting gesture.

It feels somehow shameful to admit how lost he feels. This is his brother; this is  _Sam._ Dean  _knows_  Sam- at least, he thought he did. It's like a maths expert getting two plus two wrong, except this equation is his kid brother's life, and Dean never even saw it coming.

 _ **I don't give a crap about his reasons,**_  Dean says flatly.  _ **He did what he did. I don't care why.**_

_**Then what do we do next?** _

_**I don't know, maybe find some demon-blood specific twelve-step program. No, I know there's not one!**_ he adds before Cas can say anything.  _ **I don't**_ **know,** _ **Cas. How am I supposed to know?**_

_**Is there anyone who might?** _

Guilt pierces through Dean like a blade- 'as soon as possible' has come and gone, and he's yet to tell Inias a thing. Dean grits his teeth and tells himself he'll deal with angels later- soon, in fact- and it subsides a little. He really, really doesn't have time for his own shit right now.

 _ **Maybe,**_ Dean says. There's an idea growing in his head, and whilst he doesn't like it- he  _really_  doesn't like it- he can't think of anything else to do.

 _ **Go on,**_ Cas says. Dean's eyes find Sam's in the mirror, then drop to the ashtray. There's an army man crammed there- Sam's work, if Dean remembers right. It was one of Dean's toys, but he'd given it to Sam without question.  _Take care of Sammy. Look after your brother._ Do your fucking job.

Dean makes his decision.

 _ **You still got your phone?**_ he asks.

_**Yes.** _

_**You still got Bobby's number?** _

_**Singer? Yes. Why?** _

Dean looks at Sam and feels something heavy settle in his gut- something rotting, steadily pumping poison into his blood. He doesn't think it's the kind of poison that washes out.

_**You're gonna wanna text him.** _

* * *

"This isn't funny! Let me out!"

Bobby and Cas stand in the corridor as Sam hammers frantically on the locked door. Neither of them seem to know what to say. For once, Dean's glad that he can't be expected to join in. His thoughts are still firmly stuck on the image of Sam's face when Bobby called and asked him to swing by. He'd looked so damn  _happy._

In the room with Sam, lying next to his cot, are several plastic bottles of water and a stack of what Dean's pretty sure are gas station sandwiches. In the corner of the room, there's a bucket. Dean can't help but think of the space as Sam's cell.  _Well, if it looks like a duck…_

Sam keeps on shouting- shouting for Cas, for Bobby, shouting abuse, shouting pleas, and Dean really, really wants to stop listening.

 _ **I'm heading out for a while,**_ he tells Cas.

 _ **I understand,**_ Cas replies.  _ **I'll let you know if his condition changes.**_

_**You make it sound like he's sick or something.** _

_**Isn't he?** _

A part of Dean wants to punch Cas for talking like that about his brother; a part of him agrees. Sam  _is_ sick, and Dean's somehow missed it for  _five months._ What if it goes even further back? What if Sam was guzzling down blood when they were hunting together? No, Dean would have noticed that- wouldn't he? The alternative is too much to think about.

Dean teleports out blindly, ending up at the far end of the salvage yard by chance as much as anything else. Far away from Sam's shouts, Dean pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and lets out a long, juddering breath.

"Dean," comes a voice. The universe can't give Dean two damn minutes, can it?

"Anna," he says tightly.

"We heard reports that you were taking on Asmodeus," she says. "What happened?"

"He's dead."

"Asmodeus is  _dead_?" Anna says in disbelief.

"As a dodo."

"That's…" Anna struggles to find the right word.

"Impressive?"

" _Insane._ Dean, Asmodeus is nearly as old as Lilith, and he's  _immensely_  powerful- I mean, when the angels were being killed, he was our first suspect."

Dean's sure as hell not going to comment on that _._ According to Inias, the killings stopped pretty quickly after Alastair went bye-bye, so the Host have concluded that he was obviously the culprit. Obviously.

"Hundreds have tried to kill Asmodeus," Anna continues, "humans and angels both. Every one of them died, and none of them did it quickly."

"Well, you're welcome," Dean says with a tight smile.

"How?" Anna says, with near-reverence. "Was it Sam?"

"It was."

"How?" Anna asks again.

"You already caught the show with Alastair," Dean grunts.

"No, I mean  _how_? How is he doing it, Dean? How is he getting stronger?"

That's when Dean knows what he's been starting to suspect:  _Heaven don't know_. Sam and Cas slaughtered every demon who might have told, and with the sigils on the walls stopping anyone above Dean's calibre getting in, there was no way any angel could have overheard. Sam, Cas, Bobby and Dean are the only four people (close enough, in Dean's case) in Earth, Heaven  _or_ Hell who know what happened.

Dean has his orders.

"I don't know," he says.

Dean starts to feel the effect as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. His breathing catches, his heart rate shoots through the roof, and it's taking conscious effort to keep himself from shaking. He puts in that effort, though- he keeps his face neutral, his posture painstakingly relaxed. Pictures and sounds begin to flood into Dean's head, but he counters the memories of what's already happened with visions of what  _might_ \- the angels declaring Sam an abomination, Sam screaming as they yank a knife across his throat, Cas being alone and Sam being dead and it all being Dean's fault.

Dean has his orders, but also has his choices.

Anna's looking at him intently, and whilst he's got every wall he knows of slammed up around his mind, maybe that's making him seem even more suspicious. He's not even sure it would  _matter_ if she heard- Dean can hear somebody crying, screaming in terror, and every thought he has is focused on telling himself ' _notrealnotrealnotreal'._

"Are you sure?" she says.

"Yes," he says, too quickly and too much like a gulp. Anna touches a gentle hand to his elbow.

"Dean?" she says.

"I told you, I don't know!" he snaps, and he forces himself to look at her- or, at least, he aims his eyes at where he thinks hers are. His vision is swimming, flashback after flashback stealing his sight from him. Through the haze, he sees Anna step back.

"Okay," she says. "Thank you anyway. I'll tell Zachariah."

It takes Dean too long to work out that Anna's gone, and when he does he lets himself crumple to his knees. He barely even notices.

Dean can't go anywhere. Where is there to go? Wherever he goes, Heaven can find him. Once they figure out that he's lied to them, they'll rewire him again and they'll do it properly this time- or maybe they'll finally decide that he's too much trouble and send him right back where they plucked him from, with Sam and Cas hurtling after him.

Dean has nowhere to go, but he needs to go  _somewhere_. He needs to put as much distance as he can between himself and the people he's put in danger. Dean doesn't know if the panic room is angel-proof- he doubts it- but if the angels don't know where Sam is, Dean can't risk giving them any hints. It's only then that it hits him:  _angel proofing_.

It's risky, and it's going to announce to every single member of the Host that Dean's got something to hide, but it's the best chance they've got. Dean closes his eyes and focuses on Cas, catching hold of the familiar presence and letting it haul him towards it like a leash recoiling. He knows he's arrived at Cas' side through things deeper than sight.

_**Cas?** _

_**Dean?** _

_**They- I need-** _

Dean can't even focus for long enough to string a damn sentence together. When he looks at his hands, they're dripping with blood. It's alive on his fingers, writhing like maggots, and he can feel something crawling over his lips.

 _ **Let me see you,**_ Cas says.  _ **Bobby isn't here.**_

Firm hands close around Dean's arms the second he drops into visibility. Dean slumps into the familiar hold, and he can't tell if Cas is holding him or holding him  _up_.

"Breathe," Cas says. "Sit down, and breathe."

He guides Dean to something- bed or sofa, Dean can't say- and pushes gently on Dean's shoulders until he sinks down. The memories come thick and fast, and Dean's mind grabs one and latches on, fusing with the vision and letting itself be swallowed whole.

" _Why have you stopped?" the voice commands. Dean can't tell who it is anymore. It's too hard to focus, on anything at all._

" _I can't," he says weakly. "Too much… I'll…"_

" _Sit_ up! _" the angel snaps when Dean slumps to the ground. "I did_ not  _say you could lie down!"_

_Slowly, head thick and spinning and so very heavy, Dean brings himself to his knees. Leaning heavily on his hands for support, his eyes find the angel's._

" _Good," Raphael says. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"_

" _I can't…" he says, but loses the other words. Raphael waits patiently for him to continue._

" _I'll die," Dean chokes out. "If I lose anymore, it'll kill me."_

Somebody hits Dean, the slap hard across his face. He blinks in confusion and sees Cas lowering his hand.

" _Focus_ ," Cas says. "What's happening?"

Dean grits his teeth. "Angels. I'm supposed to tell them about Sam. I didn't."

"How do we keep them out?" Cas says, moving with Dean effortlessly, and Dean would be grateful if he had the time or presence of mind to be anything at all.

"Sigils. I can- paper," he gasps. Cas understands and immediately turns to searching, tearing through drawers and pushing stacks of books over. Through the watery pieces of reality his senses offer, Dean's worked out that he's in a bedroom; it must be one of the spare rooms he used to stay in as a kid. Bobby's house always was too big for just one man, and he had enough space to give Dean and Sam separate rooms every time they stayed. Maybe he figured they'd want their own space, but nine times out of ten, Dean would wake up to find Sam curled up at the base of his own bed. He'd complain about it in the morning, but he was never serious; if Dean's being honest, he never slept quite the same after Sam took off. The nights were too quiet.

"Here," Cas says, pushing a scrap of paper and a pen into Dean's hands. It's hard to focus, hard to think, and it takes Dean far longer than it should to recreate the sigils he saw at the funeral home and strip club. He doesn't know if they're right, but hopefully they're close enough. Dean's hand shakes as he draws, but the grounding warmth of Cas' hand against the small of his back helps.

"They need to be in blood," Dean says.

"Does it need to be angelic?" Cas asks, retrieving his dagger.

"No," Dean says, and as soon as he does Cas draws the knife across his own palm.

"Cas,  _no_ ," he says uselessly as blood begins to ooze from the gash.

"On the walls?" Cas asks, ignoring him. Dean just nods, figuring this is a fight he's already lost. Without warning, the memory takes him over again, picking up where it left off.

" _My apologies," Raphael says, with what sounds like genuine concern. "Don't worry yourself, Dean. I can fix things."_

_Another angel appears- Irriel? Uriel? Something, it was something. But this angel isn't alone- he's clutching somebody in his arms, somebody large and heavy and trying to fight him off._

" _Get off me!" the man cries. Despite how heavy they are, how tired, Dean's eyes widen._

" _Sam?"_

" _Dean?" The angel throws Sam to the ground before disappearing, not even looking to see where the body lands. Sam's thrashing when he hits the ground. When he jerks his head up, he looks desperate, sad and scared- and he's looking straight at_   _Dean. Sam's shock is clear, eyes swelling as he looks Dean over._

" _What happened?" Sam says, starting to crawl towards him. "Dean, what happened to you?"_

_Dean looks down at his body- objectively, from a distance, like the macerated mannequin has no tie to him. The tanned arms are covered in heavy red slashes, blood painting everything the same shade of rose. His jeans are rolled up to his knees and his calves and feet are in the same kind of state- gashes curving across the flesh, slicing at his heel, running between his toes. When he ran out of space on his limbs, he'd had to shed his t-shirt and continue his work on his chest and back. The blade he's clutching is slick with blood, so slippery that he has to keep wiping it clean on his clothes, on his skin, his face._

_He meant what he said. He can't afford to lose much more._

A hand cups Dean's face, and he can just about make out Cas crouching in front of him.

"Hey," Dean says hoarsely, and Cas exhales, relieved. He lets his hand drop from Dean's face, but he doesn't move away.

"The sigils are complete," Cas says, gesturing at the wall. "If Bobby asks, I can say I found them in a book."

Dean doesn't care  _what_ Bobby thinks as long as he's safe. After all, as far as Bobby- and Sam- are concerned, a passing 'psychic' turned out to be a warrior of the Lord; a friendly guiding spirit who took them home after one of her brothers made Cas torture a demon. They don't know what angels are or what they can do.

"Will this pass?" Cas says with grave concern as his fingers brush Dean's wrist. As Dean goes to reply, the memory smashes into his head at full-force and yanks him back into its grip.

" _You can use him," Raphael says. Dean looks from Sam to Raphael, uncomprehending._

" _You need to finish your task," Raphael says. "I said cover the room, and the room is not yet covered. Use Sam."_

" _No," Dean says, not even having to think. "Never."_

" _Excuse me?" Raphael's voice is cool, but his eyes flame with anger. "I assigned you a task, Dean. You will complete it."_

" _Okay," Dean says, the word thick in his mouth, and raises the blade to his face. He slices it across his cheek but it's like trying to cut himself with a credit card. The skin won't part beneath the blade, no matter how hard he presses._

" _You chose to stop," Raphael says calmly. "You said you had to stop, and so you chose to use Sam."_

" _No," Dean says again, shaking his head. "That's not what I said. This isn't happening, okay? It's just not."_

" _You don't have a choice," Raphael says, in a voice like lightning on a lake, like a stake driven through an eye socket, a vastness of force and power channelled into the hiss and spit of five syllables. "That's the point of this, Winchester. It's the reason you're_ here.  _Pay attention to what you're writing, or we'll have to begin again, and I doubt you want that."_

" _I'm not hurting Sam," Dean says, leaving no room for argument._

_Raphael sighs. "So be it."_

"Dean?" Cas is calling, but Dean's too far gone. This is it, he knows; he's not coming back from this one. He's done, gone, out of the fight for good.

_The blade comes away from Dean's hand and flies towards Sam as if pulled by a magnet. Sam reaches out and catches it one-handed, with reflexes Dean knows he does not have._

" _Dean?" Sam says unsurely._

" _No!" Dean yells, dragging himself forwards on useless, lacerated limbs. It's hard-going but he ignores it, disregarding the pain until he's at Sam's side. When he reaches for Sam's arm he finds he can't touch it, his fingers held back by an invisible barrier. He can only watch._

" _Dean, I don't… what's happening?" Sam says, scared, as he begins to move the blade towards his own arm. Raphael is watching him and his eyes are following the blade- or are they dragging it? Dean doesn't know. Sam's not the one doing this; then again, this isn't Sam._

" _He's not real," Dean moans, rolling his head away. "He's not real, he's not real."_

" _Does it matter?" Raphael says softly. He's crouching by Dean's head now, his face a mixture of disgust and pity. Behind them, Dean hears Sam cry out in pain and shock. No, it's not him, it's not real. Raphael extends a hand and Dean finds himself facing Sam- not Sam, it's_ not _Sam- slicing his skin open as tears run down his face._

" _Dean?" Sam's eyes fix on Dean, on his big brother, begging him to take it away, to make it better._

" _It's okay, Sammy," Dean chokes out. "It's okay." Raphael is right: it doesn't matter if this is real or not. It's still happening._

" _Good," Raphael nods, back in front of them now. Sam extends his arm and Dean gently presses two fingers to one of the bloodied wounds._

" _It's okay," he says again. He turns to the wall on his right and slowly begins to smear out the words._

 _I must obey._ The room had changed as Dean worked: every time he nearly coated a wall, he'd find another foot of white space he hadn't touched yet.  _I must obey._ That's what Dean had written, over and over again on that always-growing wall.  _I must obey I must obey I must obey,_ in his blood and then in Sam's and then, when Sam had lain dead and bloodied at his feet, in Cas'. It had taken days to complete.

Now, as Dean sits in Bobby's spare room with his screaming head in his hands, he knows that this will be the last thing he sees. The final slip of consciousness is a breath away from coming loose, and it will do so with the whisper of ' _I must obey'_ in his ears and the scent of drying blood raking his throat.

And then, all at once, the memory becomes meaningless.

"Dean? Dean!" Cas' hands are tight on Dean's shoulders, so tight they hurt.

"Cas?" Dean says unsurely. "It's gone."

"What?"

"It's gone," Dean repeats. "The… everything. It's…" He clenches a fist to his chest and then flings the fingers out in a mock explosion, the pain flying far, far away. All of the anger, fear, guilt, it's all vanished, leaving only the faintest of aches as a sign it was ever there.

"How?" Cas says. " _Why_?"

"I don't know," Dean says, "but I don't trust it."

Cas' eyes find his, searching for answers Dean doesn't have. Dean can remember it all, every cut and cry and plea, but none of it means anything to him. He pushes harder. He thinks every blasphemous thought he can, prays for God to die and for Heaven to burn, and he gets nothing. No response. His collar hasn't just been loosened; it's been pulled off.

"Could it be the sigils?" Cas says uncertainly.

"Maybe," Dean says, eyeing the markings. "Looking good, by the way." A few are slightly different to what Dean drew, but looking at them now, he thinks they're actually closer to the real thing. Cas has spent a lot of hunts being relegated to 'sigil drawer', so who knows? Maybe the skill's transferrable. Or maybe it's yet another weird fluke in the long stream of weird flukes that make up Cas' life, but they don't have time to worry about that right now.

"How's Sam?" Dean asks.

"Dean-"

"Priorities, Cas. How's Sam?"

"We think he's started to hallucinate," Cas says, and Dean tastes bile.

"You sure?" he says roughly.

"He was saying Alastair's name."

Dean rubs a hand over his face. "How long is this gonna go on?"

"We don't know. There are no documented cases of a human drinking demon blood."

"Yeah, well 'no documented case' pretty much sums up our lives," Dean mutters. "I lied to Heaven, Cas, and they're gonna be  _pissed._ I don't know that they wouldn't try and hurt you or Sam or Bobby just to get me to show my face- or hell, maybe they'd do it to blow off steam, I don't know. We need those sigils up everywhere."

"What do I tell Bobby?"

"Tell him the angels might not take that kindly to Sam guzzling down demon blood. Tell him you don't know if they're watching or not, but if they are and they find out, you don't know what they'll do." After all, that's not  _that_ far from the truth.

Cas brings Bobby in and shows him the sigils, regurgitating Dean's explanation, and Bobby grudgingly agrees to put the new sigils up.

"I am too damn old for this," Bobby grunts, wincing as blood bubbles to the surface of the cut on his hand. People are painting walls with their blood again, and it's still because of Dean. He's not happy about it, but it's got nothing to do with the memory from discipline. Dean's glad that he's not a gibbering wreck, but he doesn't like this. He's sick of Heaven treating him like a circuit board, cutting connections and sticking them together as they please. It makes him worry about what wires they might have ripped out.

"I'm sorry," Cas grimaces as Bobby begins working.

"Make yourself useful and cover the kitchen," Bobby says, with good-natured grouchiness. "I'll handle upstairs."

They cover the walls swiftly, with Dean only entering a room once all of the sigils are in place. Nobody's sure what to do about handling the panic room. They peek through the window and find Sam deep in conversation with somebody that isn't there.

"We can't leave him," Cas says. "It isn't safe."

"He's coming off demon blood," Bobby points out. "That ain't safe for  _us._ For all we know, he'll take a swing at anyone who walks in the room."

"Sam won't hurt us," Cas says confidently. Before Bobby can respond, Cas pulls the door open and slips inside, pulling it shut behind him. Sam jumps and turns at the noise, blinking heavily like he's coming out of a dream.

"Crazy bastard," Bobby mutters. Dean has to agree. He loves his brother, but he doesn't know how much they can trust him right now.

 _ **Be careful**_ , he tells Cas.

"Cas?" Sam says in confusion.

"Hello, Sam," Cas replies. He uses the knife to poke the just-healed cut on his palm back open.

"What- what're you doing?" Sam asks as Cas starts to mark out the circle on the wall.

"Sigils," Cas sighs, like he wishes Sam wouldn't talk to him. Sam doesn't play along.

"Against  _what_?" he asks.

"Angels." Cas finishes the first sigil and starts on another.

"Why angels?"

Cas doesn't reply.

"Cas, why angels?" Sam repeats.

"Try and rest, Sam," Cas says, finishing the second sigil.

"No!" Sam gets to his feet, and Dean feels Bobby stiffen next to him.

 _ **Dammit, Cas, I said be careful!**_ Dean says, knowing it's probably not fair but needing someone to pin the blame on.

Cas takes a breath. "I'm sorry," he tells Sam, the words slightly forced. "The sigils are to protect you. We don't know how the angels will react to your… situation."

"The demon blood," Sam says flatly.

"Yes." Cas works quickly and speaks slowly; he's nearly finished.

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "Cas, I'm so, so sorry. I let you down, I let Dean down- I get it, okay? I do. Let me out of here. Please."

Cas finishes the final sigil. He turns to face Sam.

"I am sorry for this, Sam," he says. "I truly am."

Dean doesn't watch Cas leave. He hears the shouting and thudding, and he knows it's taking both Cas and Bobby to physically shove Sam back into the room and shut the door on him. Sam begs and curses and pleads, and Dean can't look.

He can't leave either, though; he feels that, after everything, he owes Sam that much. Dean stays in the corridor and, once Sam's calm enough, teleports into the room to sit by his bed. Sam keeps on hallucinating, but his responses are too vague for Dean to work out what he's seeing.

Cas and Bobby drop by every now and again to check on Sam, but they never stay for long- Dean thinks they're finding it too hard to hear Sam in pain and not be able to help. Dean, on the other hand, is kind of an expert at that by now.

Hours later, a sudden jolt of anxiety rockets through Dean's head, and it doesn't take long for him to realise it's not his own.  _ **Cas?**_

_**Yes?** _

_**What's up?** _

_**I'm fine.** _

_**You sure?**_ Admittedly, the anxiety's gone now, and they  _are_  all worried about Sam. This felt different though- stronger, somehow more raw.

 _ **Yes,**_ Cas says. _ **How's Sam?**_

 _ **Sleeping.**_ Dean's been wondering about dreamwalking, but Sam's been seeing ghosts all day; Dean doesn't know if he could handle any more.

Dean heads back upstairs after a while and sits with Bobby and Cas. The two of them seem to get on okay, though things are understandably stilted. They watch the news, and it doesn't make for very reassuring viewing.

"That's a Seal," Bobby nods at the TV: sixty-six kids have been killed in some New York school. Children are dying, Sam may very well be doing the same, and Dean's more useless than ever. Another current of anxiety ripples through Dean's head, and he glares at Cas even though his ward can't see him.

 _ **What the hell is up with you?**_ Dean asks.

_**Nothing.** _

_**I'm not buying it. You're worried about something.** _

_**We don't know if Sam will be alive come morning,**_ Cas lashes out.  _ **Of course I'm worried.**_

Dean backs off- but he can't shake the suspicion that there's something more, something Cas isn't telling him.

Day turns into night, with Sam alternating between talking and screaming (and once, which Dean is determined to forget, sobbing). Anxiety that is not Dean's own brushes over his mind with increasing regularity. Dean thinks that Cas is actually trying to stifle it, to hide it from him, and that can't be a good sign. It's nearly one in the morning when the anxiety turns into a sudden lurch of  _fear,_ and that's when Dean cracks.

 _ **Upstairs. Now,**_ he says, leaving no room for argument.

_**Dean?** _

_**I said now, Cas.** _

Cas stands up. "I'm going upstairs," he says.

"Get some sleep," Bobby nods. "I'll get you up if anything happens."

"Thank you," Cas says.

 _ **What's this about?**_ Cas asks as he climbs the stairs, managing to sound pissed off without speaking out loud.

_**You tell me.** _

Cas opens the door of the bedroom Bobby's allocated him and by the time he shuts it, Dean's standing in the middle of the floor, arms raised slightly at his sides.

"What is with you?" he says.

"I don't know what you mean," Cas says briskly.

"Bullcrap," Dean retorts. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Don't lie to me," he says as Cas opens his mouth. "Don't you do that, Cas."

Cas pauses, reconsiders.

"Yes," he admits, his head bowed. "Something is wrong."

"Alright," Dean says warily, glad Cas is at least admitting it. "What?"

"Nothing of importance."

" _Cas_."

"I mean it, Dean," Cas says heatedly. "I'm safe, Sam's… stable. It's nothing."

"Really? Dean says. "Because it sure doesn't feel like nothing." The tough approach is getting him nowhere, so he rubs a tired hand over his face and tries again.

"Hey," Dean says. "Look at me."

Cas reluctantly meets Dean's eyes, and Dean smiles encouragingly.

"There you are," he says. He moves forward, close enough to let his hand brush against Cas', and he hears Cas let out a quiet breath. It sounds scared, like he hadn't dared to let the breath go until he knew Dean was there to make sure he took another.

"Talk to me," Dean says simply.

At first, Dean doesn't think Cas is going to say anything. When he focuses on his ward, he can sense the same anxiety as before, but with a new edge to it- almost like embarrassment, like shame.

"I'm hearing voices," Cas says, so quietly that Dean nearly misses it.

"Like before?" he asks once he's wrapped his head around what Cas is trying to say.

"Yes."

"Okay." Of all the things Dean had been expecting Cas to say, that really had not featured. "Right. When did that start?"

"Several hours ago."

"Okay. Uh, what are they saying?" Dean asks, out of morbid curiosity more than anything else.

"I can't tell," Cas says. "It's nonsense."

"Was that how it was before?"

Cas shifts. "I can't remember," he says agitatedly.

"Okay, hey, it's okay," Dean says, trying to sound calmer than he feels. "This is no big deal. You're stressed, right? That's all it is."

"You really think so?" Cas says. Dean seizes onto the whisper of hopefulness he can feel underlying the doubt.

"Cas, the world's on its series finale," he snorts. "That's enough to make anyone crack, no matter how tight their head's screwed on. It'll pass."

"And if it doesn't?" Cas says. Dean flounders.

"… there's drugs and stuff, right?" he says. "I mean, I don't know much about this crap, but-"

"I don't want to go back to the hospital," Cas says. His voice is flat, mechanical, but Dean can sense the anxiety whipping up around Cas like a storm threatening to tear him into pieces. "I can't go back, Dean. I  _can't_."

"You won't," Dean says. "I won't let happen, okay? I swear."

Cas sags. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding disgusted at himself. "This really isn't something we have time for."

"Sam's demon blood detox isn't something we got time for either," Dean points out. "I don't know about you, but I don't have much time for the friggin' apocalypse. These things never book in advance." Dean entwines their fingers together and feels Cas' distress soften, fade a little at the edges.

"Thank you," Cas says softly.

"Don't mention it. Bobby was right, you know," he says, changing the subject. "You should try and sleep."

Cas snorts. "I don't think that's going to work."

"Still," Dean says. "What's the alternative? Watch Sam talk to the walls?"

Cas consents to at least lying down, and Dean takes the chance to go and check on Sam. His little brother is pacing the length of the room, muttering all the while. Dean thinks it sounds more like 'assholes-locked-me-in-a-room' muttering than half of a conversation, though, which he thinks might be progress.

 _ **You 'kay?**_ he checks on Cas.

_**Yes. How's Sam?** _

_**Better, I think.** _

Sam stops and his head snaps around. "Mom?" he says, startled.

Dean groans.  _ **Yeah, I take that back. How're the voices?**_

_**Still there.** _

_**Louder?** _

_**No.** _

_**That's gotta be good, right?** _

Cas doesn't reply. Dean sighs and turns back to Sam.

"What if it's stronger than me?" Sam asks empty air plaintively. "Look at me. What if Cas is right?"

Sam listens intently. "Even if it kills me?" he asks. Whatever Sam hears in reply makes him press his lips together and give a slight nod. Yeah, Dean's not so big on that.

Dean takes a quick trip upstairs to check on Bobby. There's an empty whiskey glass sitting on the table, and Dean watches Bobby sigh and pours himself another drink. Dean sits down, content to stay for a while, but a tortured scream from downstairs sends him rocketing back to Sam's side.

There's nobody there but Sam- of course there isn't- but he's stretched out on the cot, his arms pressed against the metal like he can't move them.

"Please," he's sobbing. "Please, no. No!" He screams again, long and piercing, and Dean feels like his heart is shattering. Sam's still screaming when Dean leaves, making his way back to Cas' room where he knows the shrieks will not reach.

Cas is lying on top of the sheets, propped up on his elbows and staring at the ceiling.

 _ **Back,**_ Dean says before he touches down.

Cas sits up. "How-"

"Worse," Dean says grimly. Cas' face softens in concern and he shifts his legs up, looking at Dean pointedly. Dean sits down heavily at the end of the bed and, after a few seconds, drops his head into his hands. As Dean stares at the carpet, he starts to talk. He finds that he can't help it, that the words don't ask for permission before coming out.

"When I was a kid," Dean begins, "I had to grow up pretty quick." Sometimes he still feels four years old inside, but he doesn't tell Cas that. Dean feels the weight on the bed shift and knows that Cas is kneeling behind him, listening.

"I got good at not reacting to things. Blood, dirt, shit, salt…" He makes a dismissive hand gesture. "No big deal. There was only one thing, one thing I couldn't handle, and that was puke. I don't know why. Everything else was fine, but if someone hurled, I was gone."

His father had hated that, he remembers. Dean saw his first exorcism at about seven, and he had to leave because the way the guy heaved was enough to set Dean heaving too. Being ordered out of the room, desperately willing himself not to throw up because that'd make things even  _worse_  had made Dean feel like a baby, like a rat getting under his father's feet. It had been days before the ice left his father's eyes, days of silence that screamed of John's disappointment louder than words ever could.

"After mom died and we started hunting," Dean continues, "getting a balanced diet wasn't exactly high on our list of priorities. Mostly it was crappy convenience store stuff- whatever was cheap and easy, to be honest." He remembers spoon-feeding Sam ice cream and instant oatmeal in McDonalds parking lots; trying to persuade his father to eat something, to consume anything other than endless cups of strong black coffee.

"It suited me just fine, but Sam's always been finicky. All the fat and sugar and junk messed with his stomach- maybe he was too young for it, I don't know." Dean tried his best to keep Sam healthy, but it was tough. He remembers buying Sam fruit gums instead of chocolate whenever he could, because everyone said that fruit was good for you, but Sam never liked them much and Dean didn't want to make him eat food he didn't like.

"He got used to it eventually," Dean says- or maybe Sam got old enough to start picking out healthier stuff, Dean can't remember- "but as a kid, he used to get stomach ache pretty often. I remember this one night, when I was… eight, I think. We were staying in this seriously crappy motel when this noise woke me up. Sam wasn't in bed, so I checked the bathroom and…" Dean makes a repulsed face.

"He'd been sick?" Cas guesses.

"Everywhere," Dean says. "It was  _bad._ He was curled up next to the toilet and he was crying, and when I walked in he started saying sorry, over and over again. He knew what seeing people throw up did to me. He told me to go away, that he'd handle it. And I looked at all the mess, and I was sure I was gonna puke or pass out or something, but then I looked at Sammy and I thought  _no._ I told myself, 'you can do anything for Sammy. You can do anything he needs you to'. And I did. I cleaned him up and I put him back to bed and scrubbed that damn bathroom till it  _shone._ "

He still remembers it now- the way the too-bright light had flickered and stuttered, the rhythmic flush of the toilet as he dropped wad after wad of vomit-soaked paper into it. And every time Dean looked down or the smell threatened to overtake him, he would tell himself  _'this is for Sam. You can do anything for Sam.'_

"It wasn't easy, but it was," Dean says. "It was fucking disgusting, actually, but it was what Sam needed, and there was nothing I couldn't do if he needed it."

Dean feels Cas' hand close on his shoulder, and he twists around to look at him. "And now there's you," he says, and he refuses to acknowledge that the way his voice cracks on that last word. "And it's the same. I know I've hardly been much use so far, but I still- there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Cas." Dean swallows, laughs weakly. "You know, sometimes, I'm not worried about Lilith. Sometimes I just  _know_  that we're gonna win, and I know that the world's not going to end- because if it did, that'd mean you and Sam got hurt, and I can do anything, any damn thing at all, to keep you two safe."

"Dean," Cas murmurs, moving forwards properly to sit by Dean's side.

"But then I remember that's not how this works," Dean says, because he can't stop, not now. "I remember that in the real world, good people die and bad people don't, and there's not a damn thing you can do about any of it. I remember that I screw things up, and that God certainly doesn't give a shit, and so where does that leave us?"

He can't stop thinking about Sam screaming his heart out downstairs, and about the voices chattering away in Cas' head, and about Bobby's bottle of whiskey getting emptier by the minute, and it  _hurts._ There are too many things going on, too many things Dean needs to fix. He's only just gotten fixed himself, and for all he knows, the pain has only gone away because the angels have severed the nerves.

"You deserve better," Dean says. "All of you deserve better, but you most of all."

Cas tries to move his hand to loop around Dean's shoulders, but Dean pulls away. "You've spent so damn long not having a life, stuck staring at the same four walls, and  _this_ is what you get as your prize? I'm the knight in shining armour? I'm not even  _here,_ Cas. I don't even exist half the time."

"I don't care," Cas says firmly.

"Why not?" Dean says. "There's a whole world of people out there, Cas, people who don't fucking disappear when someone walks in the room. I'm your guardian angel, and I'm bad enough at  _that_. I shouldn't be your…" Is there a word for it? Dean doesn't know, and he's too agitated waste time finding out. "You deserve someone better," he says again. "Someone human, for a start."

" _Dean,"_ Cas says. "I. Don't. Care."

"You're telling me life wouldn't be easier if I was human?" Dean challenges.

"It would be easier," Cas says, "but that's not an option. If the choice is you as you are, or another-  _any_  other- human, then there  _is_ no choice."

Dean's mouth is dry, his thoughts an incomprehensible blaring of static. "You don't mean that," he says.

"I do," Cas murmurs and kisses him, pulling at his shirt to close the gap between them. Dean pulls away.

"You can't-"

Cas just brings their lips together again, this kiss longer and harder than the last. Dean almost gives in but then he breaks away, ready with another counter-argument.

"I don't want anybody else," Cas says before Dean can say a single word. He holds Dean's gaze as he speaks, eyes determined and fierce like he's prepared to fight for this _._ "I want you."

And then Cas kisses Dean again, moving his hands down to grasp at Dean's hips, and Dean only holds out for a few seconds more before he gives in; he needs this too much to fight it. He needs something to hang onto, something to lose himself in, something to distract him from the hate and hurt that defines him as much as his name or face ever have.  _Take me some place else, some place where things are better. I need to forget, just for a little while._ Cas' lips are hot and hard against his, his teeth pulling at Dean's lower lip, and where did he even learn to  _do_ that? Dean grabs at Cas' shoulders and yanks him close, as close as it's physically possible to  _get,_ and it's still not enough.  _Please, just let me forget._

Dean pulls Cas into his lap, hands sliding under the material of Cas' shirt, and Cas moves his legs so that he's straddling Dean, his knees pressed tight against Dean's hips. Dean drops his lips from Cas' to mouth against his jaw, his neck, sucking and then biting at the skin he finds. Heat rushes through Dean's body, a desperate stream of want and  _need_ ricocheting throughout his bones, and he can't tell what's his and what's Cas'. Somehow, it doesn't seem like an important distinction.

Cas' hands skirt at the edges of Dean's t-shirt, pushing it up, and Dean breaks away long enough to tug the damn thing off and drop it. The air is cool on his sweat-soaked skin, and something about the sensation makes him freeze in place. It's the first time, he realises as the material hits the floor, that he's taken the shirt off on Earth. In Heaven, he had shed it during discipline, but everything Dean has done on Earth has been in the same rags he died in.

"Dean?" Cas says. His voice is husky and heavy, but the concern is clear. Cas raises his hands to Dean's face, long fingers sliding against his skin. Dean leans into the touch, his forehead pressing against Cas'.

"Are you okay?" Cas murmurs.

"Yeah," Dean says hoarsely, trying to shake the feeling of abnormality, of  _otherness_ , that the realisation brought. The air is still cold against his exposed skin and he presses closer to Cas, who runs a thumb over Dean's lips.

"What do you want?" Cas says, and Dean knows what he's asking- if Dean is okay, if this is too soon, if this is too much.

And well, Dean wants a lot of things. He wants Sam to be okay; he wants Lilith diced into a thousand tiny pieces; he wants the whispers in Cas' head to skip town and never come back again. Dean wants to wear a new shirt every day, and to sleep and piss and eat like a regular human being _._ He wants things to be okay, he wants to  _make_  everything okay, but he's learned the hard way that no matter how much you want something, you can't always get it.

So instead he turns his head slightly to murmur "I want you" into Cas' ear, because he wants that too and beyond all logic, beyond any reason, he might just get to have it. He cannot make things better, but maybe he can make things  _feel_ better.

Cas' mouth is on his again in a heartbeat. Dean curls his hands into Cas' hair before moving them to pull impatiently at Cas' shirt, yanking it up over his body and kissing him as soon as the material's out of the way. He doesn't understand what's going on when Cas pushes away suddenly, clambering from Dean's lap and standing up.

"What are-" Dean says in confusion as Cas strides towards the door.

Cas locks the door. "I really don't want to be interrupted," he says, and despite everything, Dean laughs. He feels a pulse of something that goes deeper than arousal, a surge of something that wants to grab hold and never let go- to claim, to protect, to  _keep._

It's something that crept up on Dean without his intention (hell, without his  _awareness_ ), something that Anna picked out and even goddamn  _Asmodeus_ hinted at it, but he refuses to think of either of them right now. All Dean knows is that it's still hard to tell what is Castiel's and what is his own, but he's almost certain that  _this_ belongs to both of them.

Dean's worked with the 'first time' thing before- more than once, actually- but this is different. So many things are a 'first time' for Cas and, between the demons and the angels, there's a continual threat that 'first' could become 'only'. If Dean can't promise Cas a future, he needs to make sure the present counts. Suddenly, it's not just about forgetting- it's about  _memorising,_ about hand-carving a new memory that is theirs and theirs alone. Heaven have no claim on this; the world outside this room cannot touch this, cannot touch  _them_. They are somewhere else; somewhere safe.

He meets Cas halfway, dragging him back to the bed. He starts to wonder if Sam or Bobby would be able to see his clothes lying discarded on the floor, but somehow he never makes it to the end of the thought. He takes vicious glee in the way Cas has to muffle any sounds he makes against Dean's neck, which backfires in the best possible way when Cas turns to their silent, private link instead, and he's more than loud enough to make up for it.

And Dean forgets. He forgets which pieces of skin are his, where he ends and where Cas begins, whether he's angel or human, worthy or worthless, and for a while, for a short, perfect while, everything else fades away and leaves them alone. The world shrinks to nothing but Dean and Cas and the sheets around them, the material crumpled and clawed at and finally drawn up to cover them.

It doesn't take long for Cas to fall asleep afterwards, his head lolling against Dean's chest and their legs tangled together. Though it's cheesy and unforgivably chic-flic, Dean lies awake and watches Cas sleep, a soft smile on his face. It's a strange thing, but Dean thinks that if he could do it all again, he wouldn't take a different path. Alastair and Zachariah and Raphael be damned, he wouldn't give this up. He stays there, entwined with Cas, long into the morning.

* * *

At about five, Dean carefully disentangles himself, and is pleased when Cas rolls over and goes back to sleep. Dean doubts that you can sleep off a schizophrenia relapse, but it can't  _hurt._ Anna's necklace is still looped around Dean's neck- he'd thought it was best not to take it off, just in case- but he pulls his clothes back on, deciding not to think about the way his wings push through the material like it's not even there. He looks back at Cas and his breathing tightens, doubt starting to curl on his gut.  _Later_. He'll handle that later.

When Dean goes to check on Sam, he finds that his brother's still sleeping. The only person awake is Bobby, who's been awoken by a ringing phone.

"Suck dirt and die, Rufus," he snarls. "I already lost one kid. You call me again, I'll kill you."

Bobby hangs up and goes to throw the phone across the room, but thinks better of it and sets it down on the table instead. He flips the TV back on, where a bewildered newsreader from Key West is describing how ten species- none of them considered threatened or endangered- appear to have gone extinct, all at once.

"Seals," Bobby mutters to nobody. "More damn Seals."

There can't be many left, but Dean can hardly call down Inias or Anna and ask for the exact numbers. All he can do is hope that the angels give up on hounding Dean for long enough to kill Lilith- or, failing that, that Cas and Bobby will do what's long overdue and stick a knife in the bitch.

Doubt pulls at Dean's mind. If it's really that simple, why haven't they done it already? The only thing looking like a real option was Sam using his powers, and  _that's_  sure as hell off the table. Dean has no idea where Ruby is, and he doesn't care. If he ever sees her again, he'll send her ass back to Hell so fast it'll put the goddamn flames out.

Morning fades in, and Sam wakes up. He seems peaceful at first, but it doesn't last. Dean stays in the corridor rather than sit in the room itself. He wants to be there for his brother, but being around Sam right now is… difficult.

"Help!" Sam's shouting from where he's stretched out on the table, body arching with his screams. "Cas? Bobby! Help! Please, help!" Then, lucidity giving way to desperation, he cries louder than ever: "Dean! Dean, help me!"

Dean turns away from the window and leans heavily against the wall. "Would if I could, Sammy," he says miserably. It's another half-hour before Sam takes a break from yelling, and after a few minutes of blessed silence, Dean hears feet padding towards him. He turns his head to see Cas approaching, and his heart pulls a neat little trick where it flips itself over.

Cas was in a pretty bad way yesterday, and when Dean thinks of what happened last night, the words ' _taking advantage'_  are hard to ignore. There are no obvious waves of self-disgust or shame coming from Cas, but Dean's still uneasy. There's only one real way to find out- and, fuck, he really does have to find out.

 _ **Hey,**_ Dean says, and he has to admit he's relieved when a soft smile spreads over Cas' lips.

 _ **Hello,**_ Cas replies.  _ **I thought I'd check on Sam,**_ he says, walking towards the door, and Dean presses closer to the wall to avoid the ever-creepy sensation of being walked through.

 _ **More hallucinations, I think,**_ Dean provides.

 _ **Bobby said,**_ Cas replies, yawning. He looks through the window and turns away, satisfied with whatever he sees.  _ **Are you here?**_

 _ **To your left.**_ Dean waves, though he knows no one can see him.  _ **Sorry for ditching you this morning.**_

Cas tilts his head in confusion, but if he's not bothered, Dean's in no hurry to elaborate.  _He's hardy had much experience with bedroom etiquette._

 _ **You, uh, feeling okay about last night?**_ he asks instead. He can't believe how friggin'  _surreal_ this is- his little brother's detoxing from demon blood in the next room over, and he's checking that his last hook-up doesn't regret anything. But, as the niggling feeling in his chest won't let him forget, Cas is more than just a random hook-up. He means something to Dean- exactly what, Dean's not even going to try and classify- and Dean needs to know that he's okay.

 _ **About what?**_ Cas asks.

 _ **About the, you know… that.**_ Dean scowls at himself.

 _ **If you're asking if I regret anything that happened, then no,**_ Cas says.  _ **Obviously not.**_  Dean's picking each word apart, searching Cas for any sign of a white lie or cover-up, but it's all genuine. Dean lets out a long breath, something heavy lifting from his chest. For a moment, he actually forgets to reply, and Cas' face creases with sudden concern.

 _ **Why?**_ Cas says uncertainly. _ **Do you?**_

_**What? No! Really, no.** _

And Dean means it. Sure, there's still guilt pooling in his gut, but he's determined not to listen to it. He doesn't regret it, Cas doesn't regret it, and as far as he's concerned, they're the only two people who really get a say on the matter. Dean doesn't know if what they did last night was right, but he's determined not to care. He's spent too damn long worrying whether what he and Cas are is 'right', and it's never gotten them anywhere good. From now on- for however short a period of time that might be- they're whatever they want to be.

 _ **Bobby tell you about the Seals?**_ Dean says instead.

_**Three more yesterday. How many are left?** _

_**Too damn few for my liking,**_ Dean says bitterly.  _ **How're the… y'know?**_

_**Voices?** _

_**Yep.** _

_**Still there,**_ Cas confesses, and Dean's heart sinks.  _ **I thought they were going, but if anything, they're louder.**_

 _ **Do you think I could hear them?**_ Dean says.  _ **If I tried listening in?**_

_**Why would you want to?** _

_**Dunno,**_ Dean shrugs.  _ **Curious, I guess.**_

Cas seems hesitant.  _ **You can try, but I doubt you'll make any sense of it.**_

Dean focuses on Cas, and images and sentences that are not Dean's own float into his mind. Fear for Sam, for Dean, concern over the Seals breaking… Dean sifts through them, pushing them this way and that, but nothing sticks out.

 _ **Nope,**_ Dean says, giving up.  _ **Looks like you get to keep that one to yourself.**_ Apparently the whole thought-reading thing comes with 'no mental illnesses' in the disclaimer.

Time passes. Sam's drinking the water Bobby left him, but he's not really eating, and his periods of lucidity are further and further apart. Cas is getting worse too- every now and again he mutters under his breath, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge whatever's living inside.

Dean's sitting in the corridor again when he hears a loud thud from Sam's room. He rushes to the window to find Sam lying on the floor, mid-seizure.

 _ **Sam needs help,**_ Dean tells Cas frantically _ **.**_ Cas strides down the corridor a few seconds later and makes straight for the window.

"Bobby!" Cas calls once he's seen what's going on.

 _ **What if he's faking?**_ Dean asks as Sam jerks and writhes.

_**Do you think he would?** _

_**I think he'd do anything.** _

As Bobby turns the corner, Sam is suddenly picked up from the floor by nothing, slammed against the wall by that same nothing.

"What in hell?" Bobby gasps. He throws the door open and he and Cas rush in. Together, they manage to push Sam down against the cot, though it takes their combined weights to hold him down.

"We're gonna have to tie him down," Bobby grunts.

"I know," Cas says, and Dean leaves. He sweeps up into the lounge, unwilling to see them tie Sam down like an animal, unable to cope with the fact that he can't help. His wings twitch behind him, sensing his unhappiness, but that only makes him feel worse. He's a little kid playing pretend; he's useless.

Cas and Bobby reappear ten minutes later, both looking exhausted and dejected.

"Sit," Bobby says to Cas, who does so. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and goes to pour another for Cas. "You drink?"

"Not really."

"World's ending, boy," Bobby says, pouring it anyway. "Drink."

 _ **What did you do with Sam?**_ Dean asks, though he's not sure if he wants to know.

 _ **We had to chain him to the cot**_ , Cas replies. He doesn't sound happy about it. He takes a swig of the whiskey and winces as it goes down, but he takes another all the same. Dean's pierced by another stab of anxiety, stronger than the background noise that Cas' worry had become. He looks at Cas sharply and sees that his fingers have gone white where they're gripping the glass.

_**Cas? Hey!** _

_**It's nothing,**_ Cas says before Dean can even ask, setting the glass back down with care.

"So what's the plan?" Bobby asks.

"The angels are still working on stopping Lilith," Cas says.

"Yeah, and how's that going for them?" Bobby snorts. Cas remains quiet. "Let me ask you something. How many times have you met these so-called angels?"

Cas falters. With Dean spending so much time with Cas, there hasn't really been a need for other members of the Host to get involved. When you remove Dean from the equation- as Cas now has to- explaining why they should trust the angels is suddenly a lot more difficult.

"There was Anna," Cas says, "and then Uriel."

"So twice? That's all?"

"Yes."

"Alright, let me get this straight. You met two things that claimed to be angels- despite there being no damn proof of angels existing in the first place- and that seemed fine to you? They told you the world was ending, and you're A-okay with lettin' them handle it?"

"Not particularly, but I fail to see another option," Cas snaps. "We could try and kill Lilith ourselves, but we don't even know where she  _is_ , much less if the knife will work on her."

"Good point," Bobby says. "But then again, we got something here that we know  _can_ kill demons."

Cas looks at him sharply. "Are you suggesting we let Sam go?"

"I don't like it any more than you do, trust me- but if it stops Armageddon…"

 _ **No!**_ Dean says.  _ **No freakin' way. No more 'greater good' crap, Cas.**_

"The angels can handle it," Cas says, but it doesn't sound like he believes it.

"Okay, why don't we call one down and ask them? Oh,  _wait._ We've got damn angel-be-gone sigils on every wall. If they're so trustworthy, why can't they stick their big toe in this building?"

"I told you. If they find out about the demon blood, Sam is in danger."

"Based on what? Seems to me all they've done so far is save you from witches then ask you to gut some demon as repayment. Either there's something you're not telling me or there's something they're not telling  _you,_ and either way, I don't like it."

Bobby might be right both ways, Dean thinks. They can't tell Bobby that the reason the walls are covered in sigils is that there's a guardian angel hiding behind them, one who's fucked over a force not known for taking disobedience lightly. There's not a damn thing Dean would put past them.

Equally, though, Dean doesn't know why his emotional shock-collar's suddenly been deactivated. He doesn't know what's taking the angels so frickin' long, he could fill  _books_  with the things that don't make sense about Castiel's history, and after all this time Dean still doesn't know why  _he_  was picked to be a guardian in the first place.

The following silence is interrupted only by a vicious scream from downstairs, a sound that's quickly becoming a backdrop to their lives. Bobby and Cas exchange wary glances before rising as one and heading dutifully to the door.

"Stop!" Sam is pleading. "God, please, stop!"

He's still tied to the cot, but that hasn't stopped the hallucinations.

"I'm sorry!" Sam shouts, twisting against the restraints. "I didn't- I'm sorry! Please don't-"

"We should go," Bobby says uneasily. Sam's face glistens, but Dean can't tell if that's with sweat or tears.

"Stop!" Sam pleads. "Please don't- I'm your brother, please, please-" Sam screams again, long and loud and agonised. Coldness drips into Dean's gut.

"Dean, please, stop!" Sam begs again, and Dean thinks he's going to be sick.

 _ **He thinks it's me,**_ he says numbly to Cas.

 _ **I know.**_ Cas' words are laden with sympathy, with pain, and with the knowledge that nothing he can say will help.

 _ **He thinks it's me, Cas. Fuck, he thinks…**_ Dean can't stay here, not here, not while Sam's going through  _that_. He sits in the bedroom instead, closes his eyes and pitches himself into the blackness of the trance state. He's still not sure that dreamwalking is a good idea, but he can't just sit around and do  _nothing_. In the end, though, his reservations doesn't matter; Sam's mind is a closed door. No matter how hard Dean tries to break past the barrier, he's kept firmly out. Hallucinations, it would seem, aren't interchangeable with dreams.

It takes a long time before Dean finally admits defeat. He sits back and stares at the wall, trying to unpick right from wrong. It's not an easy task, and it's not made any easier by the regular surges of fear that flood his mind. Dean can tell that Cas is trying to hide it again, but he's not doing a very good job.

Evening falls, and in the early hours of the night Dean is stabbed with a terror that's nearly unbearable. He teleports to Cas' side in an instant, convinced the angels have arrived or that Lilith's on the doorstep.

Cas is sitting hunched over on the sofa. Bobby stands in front of him.

"Cas?" he asks. "You okay?"

"Shut up," Cas moans, curling up tighter. "Shut up, shut up."

"Only tryin' to help," Bobby says, sounding a little affronted. Cas shakes his head.

"Not you," he says, voice strained.

 _ **Cas?**_ Dean asks, but Cas doesn't reply. His shoulders heave with what Dean realises, with dawning horror, is a sob. He's never seen Castiel cry.

 _ **Cas?**_ he tries again, and terror pulses from Cas as he presses his hands over his ears.

"Not again," he mumbles. "Please, God, not again."

 _There goes the G word._ Dean's knows that Cas still believes there's someone upstairs- he's even overheard Cas praying once or twice- and, even more counterintuitively, Cas seems to think that 'He' actually gives a shit. Cas takes the existence of Heaven and angels as proof that God exists; Dean takes it as proof of the exact opposite. He doesn't see a loving, caring father condoning what Raphael does to those who have a different set of priorities. If there  _was_  ever somebody watching over humanity, then he's been dead or missing for a very, very long time.

"Maybe you should go lie down," Bobby says, clearly at a loss for what to do. Sam must have explained how he met Cas at some stage, and Bobby has no idea what to do with an ex-mental patient midway through a relapse. Neither does Dean.

Bobby persuades Cas to pry his hands away from his ears and guides him upstairs. Cas falls onto the chair without comment, clutching his head in his hands again.

"You want me to stay?" Bobby asks.

"No," Cas whispers, and Bobby nods.

"Call if you need anything, okay?" he says, and after one lingering look of concern, he goes. Dean materialises as soon as the door closes.

"Hey," he soothes, crouching in front of the chair. "It's me. Cas, it's me."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice cracking as he looks up.

"The one and only," Dean grins. "Hold still, okay? I wanna try something."

He presses two fingers to Cas' forehead and focuses. He's healed cuts, burns, even a broken bone. How different can this be? He focuses on the idea of Cas' mind healing, of the voices fading away and leaving him alone, focuses everything he has on the desire to make Cas better.

"It's not working," Cas says.

"It will," Dean insists.

"Dean, it's  _not._ " Cas moves backwards and sits upright, tilting his head back. Dean wants to shout, to knock a hole in the wall or shatter a vase, but getting angry isn't going to help here. He forces himself to stay calm instead, breathing out heavily through his nose.

"What are they, louder?" Dean asks when Cas' grip on the arm of the chair relaxes slightly.

"Louder," Cas grunts, "more frequently, more of them."

"Still nonsense?"

"Yes," Cas says, but he hesitates before he answers.

"Go on," Dean presses.

"It's nonsense," Cas says, "but sometimes…. I think I understand it."

Dean blinks. "So what does it mean?"

"It still makes no sense," Cas says frustratedly. "It's like hearing fragments of a conversation, I can't piece it together. But the fragments… Dean, it's  _nonsense_ , but I understand it. And I think- I can't remember, but I think this is how it was before, when I was a child."

"You were really ill for a really long time, Cas," Dean reminds him, playing the voice of reason, pretending he knows a damn thing about what's going on. "It makes sense for that crap to resurface sometimes. The whole nonsense thing is pretty weird, I'll give you that, but that doesn't mean it needs worrying about."

"Bobby wants to let Sam go," Cas says. Dean's mouth tightens into a line.

"We can't, Cas," Dean says. "It's not right."

Cas nods. "I agree. It wouldn't-" He lurches forward suddenly, and Dean grips him by the shoulders.

"Cas?"

"Nothing," Cas gasps as he looks up, their faces a breath apart. "Loud, they're loud. That's all."

Dean leans forward to press a quick kiss to Cas' mouth. "I know," he tells him, and then he stands up. "I gotta go. I'll be back soon, okay?"

Cas nods. He's still bent over, his arms resting on his knees. "Where are you going?"

"To see Sam. Call me if you want me, okay?"

"I'll try not to."

" _So_ not what I said."

Cas grimaces. "Dean," he says. "I'm so s-"

"If you say you're sorry, I'll punch you," Dean warns. "And then  _I'll_ have to apologise, and I friggin' suck at apologies. M'kay?" Cas doesn't answer, but a weak smile tugs at his lips. Dean grins back, with brightness he doesn't feel. "See you soon, Cas."

* * *

Dean doesn't find Sam. He doesn't find Bobby, and he doesn't stay in the room with Cas. He makes his way down the staircase, all the way to the back door, and he stands and stares at the wood.

 _Do I really wanna do this?_ A fresh shriek from the panic room gives Dean his answer. With a final look at the protective sigils Bobby and Cas spent so long creating, Dean teleports outside.

"Anna!" he shouts. " _Anna_!"

Dean can't see any other option. He can't hold Sam and Cas  _and_ the whole damn world together, not all at once. It's too much for anybody to handle, especially someone with his track-record when it comes to fucking things up. Dean's willing to negotiate. The angels can't get inside the house, so everyone inside is still safe- but they can have Dean. If it stops Lilith, if it helps Sam and Cas, it'll be worth it.

"Anna!" he hollers again. He hears the familiar flutter of wings, but it's not Anna that arrives.

"Would you answer someone else's mobile?" Dean demands. If Inias looked bad before, the only word applicable now is 'awful'. His hair is pushed up at strange angles and his eyes are rimmed with red.

"Anna's busy," Inias says tiredly- and then, "You lied to us."

"I did," Dean confirms. "I'm guessing Anna told?"

"No, Anna told us you had no idea how Sam is getting stronger- but Zachariah is powerful, Dean. He saw that she didn't really believe you, understood that she was trying to protect you. You know how Sam is getting stronger."

"I do."

"Tell me."

Dean goes to answer, but the words stick in his throat.

"Dean?" Inias says when Dean doesn't answer.

"What're you going to do to Sam?" Dean asks instead.

"Nothing, for now." Dean makes a noise of disbelief. "I mean it," Inias insists. "Believe it or not, we have bigger things on our plate."

"Swear on it?"

"Dean, the world is ending. I don't have time to waste on lies."

Dean's still unhappy, but Inias has a point. "Demon blood," he says. "He's been drinking demon blood."

Inias exhales. "Somebody did suggest that," he says. "I was hoping it wasn't true, both for his sake and for yours. Withdrawal from demon blood can kill."

Dean nods; he'd guessed as much. "They've got him tied up in a room, going cold turkey. It ain't looking good."

Inias grimaces. "Only time will tell."

"Could he do it?" Dean blurts out. "Kill Lilith, stop the apocalypse?"

"Possibly," Inias says, "but if he's relying on blood for strength, he would need to drink a colossal amount. I don't know what effect that would have on Sam, but it's likely it would be permanent."

 _Permanent._ Lilith dead, but Sam lost. Is it worth it?

"You're forgetting something," Inias says, breaking up Dean's tangled web of thoughts. " _You_  were chosen, Dean, not Sam. I told you that God has work for you, and  _this_  is that work."

"What's 'this'?"

"I don't know."

"Sorry, not buying it."

"I  _don't-_  but Zachariah does. If you come out of hiding and agree to work with us- to follow any and all instructions Heaven give you- then you can stop this."

Dean falls quiet as he thinks. "If I do this, Sammy doesn't have to?"

"That's what I've been told."

"And Cas?"

"No harm will come to him."

"Then I'm in," Dean says decisively.

"Thank you, Dean," Inias says, and his relief is strangely intense. His entire body sags with it, eyes filling with a watery kind of light. "I'll tell Zachariah. This is… good. For many people."

Despite what his teachers used to say, Dean's not stupid. He can put two and two together and get four, and when he combines Anna's sudden unavailability with how plain  _ruined_ Inias seems, like the whole damn world's been pulled out from underneath his feet, the answer is clear.

"Anna's in discipline, isn't she?" Dean says. "For lying to protect me?"

Inias' head falls. "She disobeyed," he tells the ground. "I- Zachariah made me take her…"

"You hand-delivered her to Raphael?" he demands, and takes Inias' silence as confirmation. "I don't- she  _trusted_ you," he says in disgust.

"I didn't want to do it!" Inias snaps, looking up. "I told him I didn't want to, I begged him not to make me- but then he asked if  _I_ was disobeying, and I- I serve Heaven, Dean, I  _trust_  Heaven."

"No, you don't," Dean snarls. "You  _know_  you don't _,_ so don't you dare give me that."

"What am I supposed to do?" Inias says angrily, and whilst it's supposed to be defensive, Dean thinks there's an honesty to his question, a desperation.

"Fight back!" Dean says. "You're better than this, Inias. Don't just roll over and lie at their feet."

Inias looks at him, long and hard. His eyes are glistening. "I wasn't lying, Dean," he says, his voice quiet and measured. "I don't know what Zachariah has planned for you. But over the next few hours, one way or another, we will find out, and I sincerely hope that you will remember what you just said to me."

"Which means?" Dean says, but Inias has already touched his arm and taken him to Zachariah's office. There's been a change, though- now, Dean's wings slump heavily against his back and the background radiation of Cas' anxiety vanishes. His powers are blocked.

"You're tardy," Zachariah calls. He's sprawled out in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk.

"Dean's agreed to help us," Inias announces. Zachariah claps in delight.

"Dean! I knew we could count on you, buddy," Zachariah says, swinging his legs from the table. "So what was it? Witchcraft? Elbow grease?"

"Demon blood," Inias says. "They have him detoxing at Robert Singer's house."

"Good, great. You can go, Inias."

Inias lingers. "What about Anna?" he asks.

Zachariah's smile drops and, when he looks at Inias, his eyes are sharp.

"What about her?" he says coldly, and then he snaps his fingers and Inias is gone. "I'm sorry about that, Dean. He's usually better at realising when he isn't wanted."

"I said yes, okay?" Dean says; he's got no time for Zachariah's bullshit right now. "I agreed to come back."

"Inias gave you a choice?" Zachariah says sharply. When Dean doesn't answer, he gives a long-suffering sigh. "You know, I'm starting to think I need new staff. This was never a request, Dean."

"Yeah, you're scary, I get it," Dean says, waving a hand. "I said I'd help, okay? I said I'd do what you want, so quit jerking me around."

"You know, I'm never sure whether to admire your chutzpah or turn you to ash for it," Zachariah muses, standing across from Dean. "All the same, no time like the present and all that. They're at Singer's, you say?"

"Yeah."

"If only  _somebody_ hadn't angel-proofed the house," Zachariah laments. "I'm a little disappointed at your lack of hospitality, but I trust you have good reason. Who knows? Maybe Castiel fucked your brains out."

Dean slams up every mental barrier he has, shoving Zachariah far from his mind. Zachariah chuckles, amused. By now, Dean can usually tell when someone is trying to push their way into his thoughts, but Zachariah is an expert.

"Took you long enough to notice," Zachariah comments, but Dean doesn't rise to the bait. Right now, he has to stay focused on what matters, and that's getting Sam and Cas out of this mess alive and well.

"What's wrong with Cas?" Dean asks.

"That's a very negative attitude," Zachariah says disapprovingly. "I mean, I know Castiel's a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but that's just disrespectful."

No, that's not going to cut it- not now, not with everything that's going on. Dean's world is fragmenting around him, and he can't piece it back together until Zachariah gives him the goddamn glue. Dean needs answers.

"Why Castiel?" Dean says, a mystery from long ago that never got answered. "Out of everyone in the world, out of all those people who need protection, why did you assign me him?"

"What, you want to swap?"

"Answer the damn question."

"I think you're forgetting who holds the reins here, Dean."

"Enough, okay?" Dean says. "Enough. I have pushed aside a  _lot_ of crap about Castiel, because frankly, I didn't have the time to look into it. But he's had a shitty life, and now it's getting even worse, and I'm pretty sure that you won't find what's wrong with him in any diagnostic manual. So cut the bullshit, because I'm not doing a damn thing until I know what's going on."

"Oh Dean, you drama queen," Zachariah says, rolling his eyes. "Go on, then. Untwist your panties and pick a question."

"What's wrong with Cas?"

Zachariah pulls a face. "I'm sorry, this category is temporarily locked. Please try again later."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that all will become clear with time. I can tell you that Castiel is safe- no harm will come to him. Is that good enough?"

" _No._ "

"Tough," Zachariah says. "It's all you're getting. Ask something else."

"How many Seals has Lilith broken?"

"Oh, only sixty-four."

"There's  _two left_?" Dean says in disbelief.

"Yes, time is very much of the essence. With that in mind, you are going to go into Singer's house and release Sam from wherever you're keeping him. All clear?"

Dean stares at Zachariah. "What if he drinks demon blood?"

"That's the aim, champ."

"You  _want_  him to drink blood? What the hell?" Dean shouts. "You sent Anna to discipline because she tried to cover that up, and now you're telling me you  _want_  it to happen?"

"Anna was sent to discipline for not being honest with us," Zachariah says. "I'd like nothing better than to send you back for doing the same, but right now you're of better use on Earth. We need Sam freed so he can finish this."

"Inias said-"

"Inias is an idiot. Look, Dean- Lilith needs to die. Yes?"

"Obviously."

"Well, I don't think that flimsy knife you band around is going to cut it. Face it, Sam's powers are one of the only things that can put a dent in that piece of filth, and they're what we're going to use against her."

"If Sam drinks that much blood," Dean says slowly, "he won't even be human anymore."

"Maybe not, but who cares? Neither are you. A half-angel and a half-demon. You'd make a neat pair."

"I'm not doing it," Dean says. "There has to be another way."

"It's been less than two minutes and you've already forgotten your promises," Zachariah comments. "I wish I could say I was surprised."

"I said I'd serve  _Heaven_. Since when do Heaven want angels cosying up with demons?"

"Heaven wants a lot of things, Dean, the majority of which you don't get to know. When you took the Grace, you swore to obey God and his angels, and now God and his angels are telling you to let Sam loose."

"And I am telling you no," Dean replies unflinchingly.

Zachariah sighs. "Did you notice that we lifted your restraints?"

"The memory crap?"

"Elegantly put as ever. Yes, Dean, that. Did you wonder why?"

"Because I'm pretty?"

"Wrong. There are actually three reasons. Number one: it was a test. We wanted to see whether you'd bolt if we took off the choke chain, and you did- but you also came back, so that was annoyingly inconclusive. Secondly, we thought it would be a show of our… good nature. Someone pointed out that you might be more inclined to help if you didn't think of us as the 'bad guys', so when you holed yourself up in there with Sam and Castiel, we thought we'd give you a few hours' of respite- enough time to come around to our way of thinking."

"And third?" Dean says warily.

"The third," Zachariah says, "is that when you keep on shocking a rat, it starts to get used to the electricity."

Dean doesn't have words to describe what happens next. It's the same punch of guilt and pain and fear, but it's stronger than ever before. It's all-encompassing, inescapable, filling up every nook and cranny inside of him, flooding into cells until he's sure he's going to burst.

Memories flash before his eyes, but they don't  _feel_ like memories. They feel like here, now, this very second: Cas on his knees begging for mercy, Dean using his nails to dig a hole for Sam's mutilated corpse, a drill opening Dean's skull, his mother spitting that he's let her down, Raphael's cold observation, and then  _Alastair._ Alastair singing as he splits Dean open, Alastair smiling and nodding with pride as Dean shears off muscle, the woman under Dean's knife screaming in agony.

The tidal wave dims enough to let Dean understand what Zachariah's saying. Dean's on his hands and knees, digging his fingers into the carpet as Zachariah stands over him and talks.

"We were kind enough to take away all of those nasty memories of Hell, but as you've rejected every other kindness we've offered you… something about gift horses and mouths, I forget."

Dean's engulfed again, yanked away from the world and tossed from agony to agony. Some are from Heaven, some are from Hell, and some he can't pinpoint as being either. In some, he is cut, burned, hit, crushed; others have him watch the same things happen to Sam and Cas, to his mother and his father and Bobby. Others  _still_ have Dean carry them out- sometimes on Heaven's versions of his loved ones, sometimes on the sinners of Hell.

"Do you think that's the worst of it?" Zachariah says, dampening the flood again. "Do you really? The things that were done to you, the things you  _did_ \- tell me, was it worse to beat Castiel bloody, knowing he wasn't real, or to flay a paedophile knowing he  _was_?"

Dean's shaking, trembling uncontrollably. He retches but brings up only thin yellow acid, dribbling down his chin.

"Now, if Sam's detoxing from  _demon blood_ , he must be in a bad way- and something tells me that, right now, Castiel's not so hot either. Things are bad, Dean, but if you don't do as I ask then they will get worse, and I'm just telling you the facts here. Alastair's gone, but there are more than enough demons down in Hell hoping to try and fill his shoes- if I were to hand Sam over to them, I'm sure they'd thank me for the chance to refine their skills. And as for Castiel- well, they do say the guardian feels his ward's pain. Do you think Cas would like discipline? Raphael doesn't usually deal with humans, but I can persuade him to be flexible."

Zachariah lets everything slam into Dean at full force one more time, before drawing it away. "That's your ultimatum," he says. "What's it gona be?"

"I'll do it," Dean whispers into the stained carpet, tears stinging his eyes, bile burning his throat. "I'll open the door."

"Was that so hard?" Zachariah tuts, and he clicks his fingers.

Every memory slides away, each filed neatly back into its place. The tempest of emotion drains from Dean, leaving behind a painted shell with nothing inside. Now, he can't even pinpoint half the things that were pushing their way into his head; it's all one great big mass of grey.

Zachariah puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels as Dean tries to stand, managing it on his second attempt.

"I can't manifest while Sam's there," Dean says. "How the hell do I open the door?"

"If he's asleep, you'll be able to," Zachariah says. "If not? Try really, really hard. You might rupture something, sure, but it'll heal. Don't think about asking Castiel to open anything, I don't want him getting involved. Not yet. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Dean forces himself to say.

"There you go. Was that really so hard?"

"And me?" Dean asks. "After Sam goes, what am I supposed to do?"

"Bide your time, have faith. Stay with Castiel and Bobby-make sure they don't go chasing after Sam. We wouldn't want him to be interrupted, now, would we? I should warn you that if you so much as put a hair out of line, then what you just felt will come back, full-force. Castiel and Sam will be dealt with accordingly. I'll contact you if and when you're needed again."

"And Cas? Will he get better?"

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"

Before Dean can reply, Zachariah digs his nails into Dean's arm, and then Dean is standing back in Bobby's yard, alone. He's reassured when his wings pick up behind him and his ward's presence floods back into his mind, though Cas' fear is strong enough to make Dean physically recoil. Dean inhales, holds it, and exhales. He repeats the process until the breath he lets out does not shake.

It's time.

Dean hates himself with every step he takes back to the house, walking rather than teleporting to put it off that little bit longer. The key to Sam's cell is strung up by the door, the blind over the window pulled up. Sam's fast asleep; Dean supposes he ought to be grateful. It means that he can pick up the key and, hand trembling slightly, unlock the door by hand. That's not the end of it, though- Sam's still tied down.

Dean tiptoes into the room. He can see now that Sam's hands are bound with the kind of knot Dean's tied and untied hundreds of times before- this shouldn't take long. Dean moves forwards, barely daring to breathe. He's so close to Sam, and he's  _corporeal._ They aren't separated by the veil, and this is no dream. Any other time, the thought of him and Sam actually  _existing_ in the same space would bring Dean comfort, or pain, or some strange mix of the two. Right now, though, he can't afford to think about anything other than the job at hand.

Dean picks at the bindings as carefully and quietly as possible. If Sam wakes, then Dean will spark out of visibility straightaway. He'll have to break the rope through willpower alone, and he knows that won't be easy. No, he has to do this right; he has to do it before Sam wakes up.

Dean gets the first knot undone completely, but the sudden slackening of the rope causes Sam to stir. Dean panics and hurries with the second, fumbling it, and he feels himself leave the physical plane a millisecond before Sam opens his eyes.

Sam looks at his freed hand in confusion, stretching it and holding it out in front of him.

"Hello?" Sam calls. He pulls at the other knot until it comes undone, and then he reaches down and undoes the bindings on his feet. He swings his legs off the bed and stands, bringing a hand to his head as he sways in place.

"Someone here?" Sam calls when the dizziness passes.

"Just go _,_ damn you," Dean hisses. Sam looks around again and then leaves, frowning briefly at the sigils in the hallway but hurrying past. As soon as Dean can't see Sam anymore, he lets himself drop back down into existence. He closes the panic room door but hesitates, key in hand. Should he string it back up? Or should he hide it somewhere and make it seem like whatever busted Sam out did it the old-fashioned way?  _Does it really matter?_ Dean throws the key to the ground, disgusted at himself, and goes to find Sam.

He teleports outside to find Sam trying to jump-start a car, his hands slipping and his breathing unsteady. Dean glances around, half-convinced that Bobby or Cas are about to step out of the shadows and stop Sam in his tracks, but nobody comes. Dean leaves Sam to check inside the house and finds Bobby sat by Cas' side. Cas' head is in his hands, his knuckles curled against his closed eyes.

"Breathe," Bobby says.

"I  _am,_ " Cas says, grinding his teeth together. He exhales, long and slow, and then his shoulders slump. "Sorry," he mutters.

"Boy, that's the ninth time you've said that in ten minutes," Bobby says. "Quit apologising and keep on breathing."

Dean teleports back outside in time to see the car drive away.

It's done. Sam's gone.

Dean feels heavy, like the blood from his veins has turned to cement. He has no way of knowing what he's condemned his little brother to- only that he might not  _have_ a little brother anymore by the time Sam's done.  _It was the right thing. If it was this or handing Sam and Cas over to Hell, then this was the right thing._ The words offer no comfort. The words feel like lies.

Dean teleports back to Cas. It would be so much easier to not talk to anyone, but Dean figures he needs to keep on acting like nothing's changed. The longer it takes for them to work out that Sam's gone, the better.

 _ **Hey,**_ Dean says, sitting down next to Cas.  _ **You okay?**_

No reply comes. Dean's wings stir uncomfortably behind him.

 _ **Cas?**_ he asks again. _ **Can you hear me?**_

 _ **Dean?**_ Cas says after a beat. Dean breathes a sigh of relief, his wings settling back down.

 _ **How're you doing?**_ he asks.

Again, Cas takes a moment to reply.  _ **Alive.**_

_**That bad, huh?** _

Cas stiffens again, his breath catching in his chest. Dean flinches as a wave of confusion and dread and sadness, tangled emotion with spiked edges, slams into him.  _Guess that answers my question._

"Breathe," Bobby urges again, and slowly, shakily, Cas does.

Dean stays by his side. With each spell Cas seems worse, his eyes glazing over and his lips moving soundlessly, answering questions that nobody asked. Dean doesn't know whether to worry more about Sam or Cas, and he settles the issue by deciding on 'both'.

"I gotta check on Sam," Bobby says apologetically, and Dean's stomach drops. It's been just over an hour. How far can Sam get in an hour? "You gonna be okay alone?"

"Fine," Cas grunts. "Go."

 _Sam or Cas?_  Both.  _Focus on the one you have here. Focus on the one you can still help._

Dean takes advantage of Bobby's brief absence to drop into reality. He slides an arm around Cas' shoulders and pulls him in to lean against his chest. Cas goes willingly, half-falling into place.

"I don't know what's happening to me," Cas says shakily.

"It's okay," Dean murmurs into Cas' hair, rubbing soothing circles against his back. "You're not going back to the hospital. It's okay."

Cas just twists Dean's t-shirt underneath his fingers, clinging on like Dean is crumbling rock and the wind is pulling him down. Less than a minute later, Dean hears footsteps pounding at the stairs. He barely has time to say "sorry" before he vanishes, and the apology is for more than just leaving.

"He's gone," Bobby announces, bursting in.

"Gone?" Cas says in alarm, sitting up.

"Completely. The door's still locked and shut, but there's no sign of him. How in the hell did he get out?"

"Demons? Ruby?"

"That'd be my guess."

"What do we do?"

" _You_ don't do a damn thing," Bobby says. "No offence, kid, but you're not in a fit state to go anywhere. I can look for Sam, but I'll tell you now that when doesn't want to be found, he's damn near impossible to find."

 _ **Dean?**_ Cas says, and Dean knows that he's screwed up. He should have been freaking out from the instant Bobby shared the news, cursing Ruby with every name under the sun. Cas is too clever and he knows Dean too well to not pick up on the lack of response.

 _ **I don't know, Cas,**_ Dean says, hoping it's not too late to play the 'stunned silence' card. _ **I don't. This is… it's too weird. What do you think?**_

Cas doesn't answer, and when Dean looks at him he knows he's lost again, the voices in his head drowning out everything else.  _Who needs help more, Sam or Cas?_ Both, and Dean can't help either.

* * *

Bobby rings Sam time and time again, but Sam doesn't pick up. After the twelfth call, Bobby gives up and leaves a final message.

"Just let me know if you're safe," Bobby says tiredly. Sam doesn't call back.

Every cell in Dean's body is screaming at him for not going to Sam's side, his mind a constant jumble of  _ringSamfindSamgetSamfindSamSamSamSam._ Zachariah's threats and the memory of meat hooks are the only things keeping Dean away. Whatever Sam's going through right now, it can't be worse than Hell.

Dean spends most of the day talking to Castiel instead; focusing on keeping Cas anchored in reality has a way of grounding both of them. Cas hasn't even asked him to go after Sam- after all, Cas still thinks that every angel in the goddamn Host is waiting in the yard, eager to punish Dean for his crimes. As far as he knows, Dean's trapped here.

"Tell me about your family," Dean says. Cas is upstairs in his bedroom, so Dean can talk to him in person. It's getting harder and harder to contact him through their usual link- 'too noisy', is how Cas describes it.

"Why?" Cas asks.

"You got anything better to do?"

Cas glares suspiciously, but relents.

"My parents were good people," he begins. "Misguided, perhaps. They'd stopped believing they would ever have a child- they didn't know what to do with me. When I was young, things were fine, but when I got older… they found my condition very difficult to cope with, my mother especially. Looking back, I think she may have been mentally unstable herself. She would tell me that I was cursed or that I was a changeling- a demon's child swapped for her own."

"There's a word for that, and it ain't 'misguided'," Dean snorts.

"They loved me," Cas insists. "That much I know."

Dean doesn't like to speak ill of the dead, or of Cas' family, so he lets it go. His wings aren't as forgiving- the feathers behind him, agitated and angry. Trying to imagine how alone Cas must have felt- how many years he's spent believing he's rotting, infected with something that cannot be flushed out- is enough to make Dean hurt, a physical ache in his chest.

"What about that Balthazar guy?" Dean asks. "Where does he fit in?"

Cas told Dean about Balthazar- at least, about  _his_ knowledge of Balthazar- after they left the diner all that time ago. Dean had listened and said nothing. He sees no reason to tell Castiel that one of the few people to ever give a crap about him wasn't even from the same damn  _species_.

"I'm not all that sure how we're related," Cas says. "He's a cousin of some description. He would come by once a year or so- ask how I was being treated, if I was okay."

 _Angels are watching over you,_ Dean remembers, his gut twisting. Angels were watching over Castiel long before Dean showed up, but why? After all, it sure as hell wasn't to make Cas' life  _better._ Zachariah owes them both so many answers, but Dean doesn't see him paying his debts any time soon.

There's a knock at the door. Dean disappears.

"Come in," Cas calls, and Bobby walks in.

"I checked the house," he says with no prelude. "The salt lines, the sigils, all the demon-proofing we got. Nothin' broken, nothin' disturbed. It's all fine."

"What does that mean?" Cas asks.

"Means it can't have been demons," Bobby says grimly.

"It can't have been angels either," Cas says. "We have sigils."

"You know anything about these sigils?" Bobby says. "You used them before?"

"Well- no, not exactly-"

"Any chance you drew one wrong?"

Cas falters. "I…"

"Idjit," Bobby says in disgust, sweeping out and slamming the door.

 _ **It's not your fault,**_ Dean tells him.  _ **I screwed up. Must have.**_

"So the sigils  _were_ wrong?" Cas says.

_**Maybe. I guess.** _

Dean's starting to lose track of the lies.

* * *

"Police found my car," Bobby says at midday, when he brings Cas a sandwich and glowers at him until he eats it. It looks like he's forgiven Cas for the sigil screw-up- after all, without Cas, Bobby wouldn't even have thought to put up angel warding. "Someone abandoned it in an alley in Jamestown, North Dakota."

 _ **He's switching up,**_ Dean notes to Cas, though he doesn't know if Cas hears it. He's told Dean that since the voices started up again, they've never stopped- but at times they get do get lighter, quieter. This is not one of those times.

"Blue Honda Civic was stolen last night," Bobby notes, a few hours later. "That's Sam's kinda ride."

Bobby makes some enquiries, and by late evening he's uncovered a report that states the Civic's been found in a ditch by Elk River.

"There's a town not far from there called Cold Spring," Bobby tells Cas. "It's lighting up with demon signs."

Cas nods vaguely. Bobby stares into space.

"This woulda been Dean's territory," he mutters. "Ain't no one who can get through to Sam like that boy could."

Cas nods again, more firmly this time.

 _ **Well?**_ he says to Dean. Cas is staring at the floorboards, trying as hard as he can to listen to Dean and nothing else.

 _ **What?**_ Dean asks.

_**If the sigils aren't working, that means the angels can enter, and if the angels aren't here that means they're not hunting you. You could be in Cold Spring in under a minute.** _

Dean hesitates.  _ **Okay.**_

_**Dean, wait.** _

_**What?** _

_**What aren't you telling me?** _

_**Nothing.** _

_**Then why aren't you hunting Sam down? I would have thought you'd start tracking him down the moment we realised the sigils weren't working.** _

_**I tried,**_ Dean says defensively,  _ **but I'm outta touch with how Sam works. I couldn't find him.**_

_**You heard Bobby: he's in Cold Spring.** _

_**I know. I said, I'll go.**_ Maybe he will, maybe he won't- it's not like Cas will know either way.  _ **I don't see much point, that's all. Sam'll do what Sam'll do- nothing I can do to stop it.**_

 _ **You know something, don't you?**_ Cas says.  _ **About how Sam got out. That's why you're acting so strange.**_

_**That's bull, Cas.** _

_**Is it? Dean, the man I met five months ago would have torn the world apart to find his brother. You won't even leave the house.** _

Bobby exhales, breaking away from his own train of thought. "I don't know if I could get there in time. Maybe, but… I'll try callin' again first." Bobby picks up the phone.

 _ **Dean,**_ Cas stresses, and Dean snaps.

 _ **Fine, okay?**_ he says.  _ **You're right.**_

Cas, being Cas, doesn't gloat or get angry _ **.**_   _ **What's happening?**_ he asks, and the calm question is somehow worse than any lecture.

Dean doesn't reply. Sam doesn't pick up. Bobby leaves another message, saying that he knows about Cold Spring and that if Sam doesn't call back within the hour, Bobby's driving up there himself.

"Will you?" Cas asks when Bobby hangs up.

"I don't know," Bobby sighs, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I know I said I wasn't happy keeping Sam locked up, but I don't like him busting out without us knowing how- or  _who._ With any luck, he'll call, and we can figure out what the hell is going on."

Over his private link to Cas, Dean speaks.  _ **I let Sam out.**_ Dean doesn't look to see Cas' reaction, but he still feels the wave of shock.  _I'm sorry,_ Dean thinks. It doesn't matter that nobody hears him, because he doesn't really know just who the apology is meant for.

 _ **Why?**_ Cas says in confusion.

_**Zachariah gave orders.** _

_**Zachariah? So the angel-proofing** _ **was** _**wrong?** _

_**No, works like a charm. I called** _ **him** _**. I went outside, told him I'd help, swore my loyalty to Heaven again.** _

There's stunned silence from the other end of the link.  _ **Dean, that can't have been a good idea.**_

_**You got a better one?** _

_**They**_ **hurt** _ **you,**_ Cas growls.  _ **What if they do that again?**_

Dean declines to answer. It's better to let Cas think that Dean's doing this voluntarily than to tell him just what Zachariah is holding over his head.

 _ **What about Sam?**_ Cas says.  _ **Is he going to drink demon blood again?**_

_**Yeah.** _

_**And we're supposed to stand by and watch? Dean, how could you let this happen?** _

_**Have you seen yourself?**_ Dean lashes out.  _ **Did you see Sam? You're both sick, the world is ending, and I don't know how to fix any of it. So yeah, I went back to Heaven. Sue me.**_

_**If Bobby and I drive up to Cold Spring, if we try and stop Sam, what do you do? Do you have to stop us?** _

_**I don't know, and I really don't wanna find out. I'm telling you, Cas, don't get involved. Make Bobby hang back. I don't like this any more than you do, but I had to do it. I didn't have a choice.** _

_**No, Dean, you had a choice,**_ Cas says.  _ **The question is whether or not you made the right one.**_

Dean knows that. He wants to tell Cas that it was for him and Sam, that everything he did was for the two of them _,_ but that's not what comes out.

 _ **Screw you,**_ Dean snarls.  _ **You don't get it, whatever, but don't give me that bullshit. I'm out of here.**_

_**Are you going to find Sam?** _

_**None of your damn business.** _

Dean vanishes from the room, picking his destination at random. Cas doesn't talk again, and neither does he.

* * *

Dean has no idea what to do next. He  _could_  go to Cold Spring and track down Sam, but for what good? To watch Sam lick demon blood from his lips?  _I'll pass, thanks._  Instead, he slips into a trance state- not to dream-walk, but to pass the time. When Dean resurfaces in the morning and finds the world is still there, he simply lets himself slip back under. The trance state is the closest thing he's found to the numbness of alcohol, the best way he has to stop thinking about things, and right now he  _really_ needs to stop thinking about things.

He cannot help Sam. He cannot help Castiel. All Dean can do is make things worse, so the best thing he can do is back away without touching anything. That's fine on paper, makes sense logically, but it's not his nature. Dean doesn't  _do_ staying away, or keeping his distance, or letting people work through things on their own. If Sam's in trouble and Dean can't stop it, then fuck it, he wants to be getting in trouble alongside him.

Dean is only loosely aware of his thoughts, but loosely is bad enough. In the light of day, his indignant rage from before seems significantly less justified; Dean never could handle a truth he didn't like. Cas is quiet all day, and whilst Dean goes to start a conversation with him about twenty times, he doesn't know what to say. He wants to know if Cas is okay, if his hallucinations are any worse, but he's too damn stubborn.

That night, over a full day since he let Sam loose, Dean tries to call down Inias. He figures that, if anyone's likely to tell him what's going on, it's the friendly neighbourhood messenger-angel. Dean shouts his name for two damn hours, but nobody turns up. He moves onto yelling Anna's and Uriel's, because so far Inias has responded to pretty much every name other than his own, but he doesn't have any luck with it.

Inias' words prowl across the edge of Dean's mind, but he doesn't want to think about them. Dean pushes himself back into the trance state and vows to try again the next morning. He does so, shouts for every angel he knows in alphabetical order, but nobody comes. It's only when Dean finally gives up, his voice hoarse, that he lets himself think about what Inias said.

" _I sincerely hope that you will remember what you just said to me."_

What was it Dean had said? ' _Don't just roll over and lie at their feet,'_  he thinks it was. Which is, of course, exactly what Dean proceeded to do.

"Fuck this," Dean says, out loud, fierce. He can't keep floating in nothingness, pretending that there's nothing bad outside the blackness. He'll still keep to his orders and leave Sam alone _-_ just because the memories of his time in Hell ( _fire licking the walls, fingernails scratching a ribcage from the inside)_  mean nothing to Dean doesn't mean that he'll condemn Cas or Sam to suffer through the same.

No, he'll go back to Castiel. With any luck, Cas will accept that Dean had good reasons for letting Sam go- and, if not, then at least Dean will have gotten the chance to see how his ward is doing. Sulking five states over when Cas is scared and sick is a crappy thing to do.

When Dean opens his eyes, though, he's not standing in Bobby's salvage yard. He has no idea  _where_ he is. The room is huge and lavish, decorated with gold and marble and statues Dean's afraid to touch in case they fall. Zachariah stands before him.

"Dean!" Zachariah beams, holding out his arms. "There you are."

"What, were you looking for me?"

"No, not really," Zachariah says breezily. Dean lets it go.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Call it a green room," Zachariah says. "It makes a nice meeting place. Certainly better than that revolting scrapyard." Dean doesn't feel safe here, but he can still sense Cas and his wings are twitching behind him. His powers aren't blocked, which can only be a good thing.

"Things are going to plan," Zachariah divulges.

"Has Sam killed Lilith?" Dean says with a hard swallow, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

"Do you not think I would have mentioned that by now?" Zachariah rolls his eyes. "No, she's very much alive, but progress is being made. Sam knows where she is. He tracked down her personal chef last night, with help from that demon lady friend of his."

"Chef?" Dean says, determined to ignore any mention of Ruby. "Lilith eats?"

"In a sense," Zachariah says carefully. "Sam's primed for the big game. In less than twelve hours, Lilith will be dead, and it's all thanks to you."

"Yeah, well," Dean says, not knowing why that makes him so uncomfortable. "It needed doing."

"It did. But do you know why?"

"What do you mean?"

"You did as I asked, Dean; you let Sam go. That's more than I expected of you. You keep whining about not knowing the truth, and I feel you've earned it- that is, if you still want it."

"Of course I do," he says immediately. "What's going on?"

"Are you  _sure?_ Not tempted to bury your head in the sand? Because I'm telling you right now, no matter what you think of this next part, it's still happening."

"If you think I'm gonna beg, you can kiss my ass."

"And they say today's youth have no manners," Zachariah says dryly. "Since you asked so nicely, here goes: the final Seal will be broken."

"What?" Dean says in shock. "No, that's not true. Sam can stop it, he-" Dean cuts himself off as disgusting, long-overdue realisation dawns. He'd suspected- no, he'd  _known_ \- that Heaven was involved in bad, dark things- but he'd never imagined anything like this.

"You don't  _want_  to stop it, do you?" Dean says.

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner. World's toast, kiddo."

"So you've been sending us on wild goose chases over Seals you  _wanted_ broken?" Dean demands. "Why?"

"Right, because you'd have sat back and twiddled your thumbs if you knew the truth," Zachariah snorts. "If we told every angel and guardian and cupid what was going on, the Host would have a full-scale rebellion on our hands. Trust me, sixty-five Seals wouldn't be gone unless I wanted sixty-five Seals gone."

"But why? Why do you want the world to end?"

"You mean you don't? There's really very little here worth saving- have you  _watched_ daytime television? When the Seals are broken and Lucifer rises, Heaven will fight Hell, and our side will win. After that, it's paradise on Earth, and what's not to like about that?"

"You could ask the millions of people you're going to slaughter."

"Collateral damage," Zachariah shrugs. "Would you complain if we were doing the same to spiders? No? Then why complain about this? That's all humans are to you now, Dean: spiders. Admittedly useful at times, but in general, they're pests."

"You want the Seals broken, the day of reckoning here, the human race gone," Dean says, trying to work something out. "So why let Sam go?"

"Let's not muddle our facts here-  _you_ let Sam go, not me," Zachariah says pointedly. "You broke the first Seal, and you'll help to break the last. You should get a medal."

"But Sam's going to kill her," Dean says. "Lilith's toast."

"Exactly. Lilith  _is_ the final Seal. Plot twist, huh?" he says, grinning at the look on Dean's face. " _And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal_. You wanted the truth? Lilith's death is the last lock on Lucifer's cage, and you were kind enough to give us the key.  _That's_ the truth."

Zachariah looks away suddenly and frowns. "I'm gonna have to love- well, tolerate- you and leave you," he says. "Pressing business."

Dean's still staring at him, lost for words.

"Would you cheer up?" Zachariah says irritably. "Me telling you this isn't a punishment, it's a reward. You've finally stopped ordering off the kiddie menu- you're playing with the big boys now. I've been gracious enough to let you in on the trade secrets because if all goes to plan and Lilith dies, you'll make it out of this apocalypse in one piece. Sure, you'll be kind of redundant- a guardian with nothing to guard- but hey, eternal paradise is a pretty good consolation prize."

"Cas is going to die," Dean says weakly. "Sam too."

" _Spiders_ ," Zachariah stresses. "It's in your best interests to let this happen. If you  _don't_ … well, Dean, you either stand with Heaven, or you stand against us. I've made myself pretty clear about what happens if you choose option B. Toodles."

Zachariah disappears, leaving Dean staring at an ornate pillar. He teleports out, back to where he meant to go, to where he left Cas and Bobby behind.

Cas is in the bedroom, curled up on the chair. He's still mumbling to himself, and Dean realises with a stab of horror that the words aren't even in English. Cas' speech seems too regular, too defined to be nonsense, but it's certainly not any language Dean recognises.

 _ **Cas?**_ he says. Cas doesn't move, still muttering to himself.  _ **Cas? Castiel!**_

No answer.  _ **I'm here, okay?**_ Dean says.  _ **Gimme a sec.**_

He drops down into reality, and Cas drags his eyes up to look. "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean says, relieved, "it's me. You okay?"

"Fine," Cas says distantly, and then his eyes glass over. He's not looking  _at_ Dean; he's looking through him.

" _Bia_ ," Cas breathes. " _Bia, sald."_

"Cas?"

"Dean," Cas says again, but it seems more of a reflex than anything else. Dean kneels in front of the chair, grabs Cas' wrists in his hands.

"Cas, whatever's going on up there, I need you to focus," he says, his voice low. "You were right, okay? I shouldn't have let Sam go."

"Sam," Cas says absently. "Sam…"

"My brother. Your friend. You know who I mean, Cas."

"Yes. I know Sam." Cas seems to focus a little. "You let him go."

"Thanks for the reminder," Dean mutters. He let himself be bullied into letting Sam loose, and now the world's going to pay the price- or at least, it will unless Dean can stop it. Zachariah as good as said that Sam and Cas would die- and, with those words, he relinquished any control he held over Dean. If his choices are between torture in Hell or paradise on Earth, then Dean will take Hell, any day of the week. At least he'll have fought. At least he'll have  _tried._

"I need your help," Dean says, tightening his grip on Cas' wrists. "I fucked up big time, but we can fix it, you and me together. You gotta work with me here, Cas."

"What do you need?" Cas voice is thin and reedy, but it's there.

"We have to get to Chuck's," Dean says. "I can take us, but you'll need to talk for me. We have to find out where Sam and Lilith are. We have to stop him."

"Stop him?"

"Lilith's not gonna break the Seal, she  _is_ the Seal. If she dies, Lucifer makes it topside and that's it- game over, Earth gone. And frankly, we have not had  _anywhere_  near enough sex for me to be okay with that, so I need you to keep it together long enough to talk to Chuck. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes," Cas says, voice stronger now. "Yes, I can. Let's go."

Dean stands up and offers Cas a hand, which Cas ignores, getting up by his own power. He goes to take Dean's arm, but stops.

"Wait," Cas says. "You're disobeying."

"Yeah," Dean confirms. "But it's okay. No rebellion-induced anxiety attacks, I swear. I'm fine."  _At least, I will be until Zachariah finds out what's going on._

Cas isn't done yet. "The sigils protect you from Zachariah in here, but out there? Are you safe?"

"No," Dean says bluntly, "but neither is anyone else. No reason why I should get special treatment."

Cas is clearly unhappy, but before he can ask anything else, Dean gets there first.

"When I got here, Cas, you were talking," he says, "and it wasn't in English."

"I know."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"I don't know. It's the same thing I'm hearing, I think- but the voices are louder now, and there's more of them, and I..." Cas closes his eyes in frustration. "We should go," he says when he opens them again.

"Right," Dean says. He swears a silent promise, then and there, that he will find out what's wrong with Cas if he has to rip apart every angel in Heaven to get his answer- but right now, they have other problems.

Dean takes Cas' hand and teleports them both to Chuck's doorstep. Dean lets himself lift back into incorporeality as Cas knocks on the door.

 _ **If anyone knows where Sam is, it'll be Chuck,**_  Dean says, glancing around anxiously.

 _ **And if he refuses to tell us?**_ Cas says, and Dean can tell that he's struggling to pick out Dean's voice from the countless others he's hearing. Dean wants to say sorry, to say thank you, to say anything to try and make it better- but before he can embarrass himself by trying, a harrowed-looking Chuck opens the door.

"You're not supposed to be here," Chuck protests as Cas barges inside.

"Where is Sam?" Cas asks, wasting no time.

"I mean it," Chuck insists. "I saw this, but  _this_? This didn't happen. This isn't the story I wrote."

 _ **Well, call it fanfiction,**_ Dean growls.

"I don't care," Cas tells Chuck.

"I- sorry, but aren't you…?" Chuck taps the side of his head.

"Yes _,_ " Cas snarls, "so I would appreciate you hurrying up and  _telling me where Sam Winchester is."_

"St. Mary's," Chuck says immediately, backing away. "He's not there yet, but he will be tonight. It's a convent, it-"

Chuck's computer screen starts to flicker. The ground begins to shake and white light begins to build, and Dean knows too damn well what that means.

"Aw man, no!" Chuck wails. "Not again!"

Dean can't teleport Cas without becoming corporeal, and he can't become corporeal with Chuck still around.  _ **Get outside,**_ he tells Cas.  _ **Run!**_

Cas turns to go, but the light's arrived so much faster than last time and Cas can't even see where the door is, and could Dean destroy an archangel if he had to? He doesn't know, doesn't want to find out, and all the while there's rumbling threatening to bring the building down, dust falling from the ceiling, and fuck it, Dean did  _not_  go through all of this to die in some shitty writer's piss-poor excuse for a house-

The light is gone. The house has vanished- or, more accurately,  _they_ have. They're not in Chuck's house anymore, they're standing in the green room.

" _Dean_ ," Zachariah sighs. "Will you ever get tired of letting people down?"

There's a thud, and when Dean looks around, Cas is on the floor. He's slumped against the junction between the wall and an expensive-looking sofa, and he isn't moving.

"Cas!" Dean shouts, Zachariah and Heaven and the apocalypse itself forgotten as he moves to Cas' side. "Hey, come on, wake up. Cas?"

Cas' eyes are open but unfocused, and his body is loose and limp. No amount of shaking and calling his name has any effect.

"What did you do to him?" Dean snarls at Zachariah, who's strolled to the other side of the room and is idly examining a painting.

"You never had a laptop overheat?" Zachariah says. "All those voices in his head, his body can't take it. I'm amazed he's stayed conscious for this long."

"You said you'd be straight with me," Dean says. He leaves Cas' side to cross the room and face Zachariah. "You said you'd tell me the truth."

"Yes, which you then threw back in my face!"

"So what, you kill my ward to make me pay?"

"He's not dying, you moron," Zachariah snaps. "He's hearing voices, sure, but that doesn't mean the voices aren't  _real._ If he's tuned into the right frequency, he's hearing the same inane babble as every other member of the Host."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demands.

"Sorry, angel radio's a little above your pay grade," Zachariah sneers. "But I suppose, if you _really_ wanted, I could give you a sample. How would you like a thirty second free trial?"

Zachariah is on Dean in a heartbeat, clamping a sweaty hand against his head, and then Dean's world is flooded with noise. It's as if his link with Castiel has been opened, a thousand other voices flooding in to join them.

 _ **Merifi casog, niisa. Merifi adrpan, torzu. Merifi telocvovim, vgeg,**_  the voices sing, all rolled syllables and grandeur.

"What the hell is that?" Dean gasps.

"It's Enochian, you philistine," Zachariah replies, his voice nearly lost amongst the chorus in Dean's head. Dean might have failed every Spanish class he ever took, but he thinks this must be what it's like to understand a foreign language; he knows that what he's hearing isn't English, but he also knows what it means.

(A _ngel on the earth, come away. Angel cast down, arise. Angel fallen, become strong.)_

There are so very many voices singing throughout Dean's head, but he hears Cas' reply loud and clear.  _ **Bia, bia sald!**_

_(Your voices, your voices of glory!)_

_**Telocvovim bvtmon!**_ the voices clamour excitedly.

_(He that has fallen has opened his mouth!)_

_**Esiasch faonts**_ _,_ Cas murmurs. _ **Amgedpha**_. His voice swells with the foreign words, becoming ancient and imposing and somehow more than human.

_(Brothers dwelling in the brightness. I begin anew.)_

_**Abramg**_ , Cas continues. _ **Madriax, ozazm micalzo**_ _._

_(I prepare for you. Heaven, make me mighty.)_

_**Chirlan! Vlcinin gea, vlcinin, chirlan!**_ Dean's head rings as the phrase bursts forth from a thousand different sources, like they're singing a round where everybody is too excited to wait their turn.

_(Rejoice! We are happy, he is happy, rejoice!)_

The voices are cut off mid-cry, and the silence of the room is deafening by comparison.

"Time's up," Zachariah says. Dean straightens up, aware that he's trembling but unable to stop. His wings are pulling upwards so hard it nearly hurts, the feathers reaching for something they can't grasp.

"That's what he's hearing?" Dean wheezes.

"You bet. At first, it would have been nothing but their muttering, but once he  _replied_? He's probably had that conversation twenty times this hour. Angels sure can be loquacious when they're happy."

"Angel radio," Dean says numbly, the phrase from earlier given meaning.

"Think of it as an expansion of the guardian link- though Castiel's actually connected up to  _both_ right now. Tell me, did he get all flustered trying to figure out who said what?"

"Fallen," Dean says, ignoring the slight. "They kept calling him 'angel fallen'."

"You already know we can stuff grace into humans and sew them back up. Is it really such a shock to learn we can do the opposite?"

"He's an angel," Dean says numbly, looking at Cas' slumped form- dead to them, but very much alive in his own private world.

" _Was_ ," Zachariah corrects. "He can see your wings, right? Was that not a hint?"

"I thought-"

"Clearly, you didn't," Zachariah says nastily. "I think it must be time for a story. Once upon a time, all was good in Heaven- well, that's a lie, but it was better than it was now, and it was  _certainly_ better than things are on Earth. This place is putrid, corrupted, vile. We wanted it gone, so my colleagues and I decided to make some planet-wide redundancies. The Seals would be broken, Lucifer would rise, Michael would defeat him and boom! Paradise.

"The problem  _was,_ " Zachariah continues, "that I put my trust in the wrong people. I'd selected the most loyal soldiers we had, the most obedient, to help the whole operation run smoothly. Most were of seraph level, but there were a few lower-downs who showed great potential. Castiel was one of them.

"It wasn't my idea. If you ask me, Castiel had his doubts from the very start, but it was  _you_ that made him put his foot down."

"Me?" Dean says in confusion. "The hell did I do?"

"Nothing but exist- you see how that keeps causing problems? When we discovered that the promised child had been conceived, that's when Castiel snapped."

"What do you mean. 'promised'?"

"You're special, Dean, more so than you understand. Your birth was what really set things rolling- at least, it was  _supposed_ to. Instead, it created discord. Castiel came to me and suggested, quietly and apologetically, that perhaps we ought to reconsider. He said that he'd spent a great deal of time on Earth, and had come to see goodness in it that he was worried we had missed. He suggested we try and help rather than sit back and destroy."

"And you kicked him out of Heaven for it," Dean says in disgust.

" _I_ would have had him killed," Zachariah says, "but I was overruled. For some reason, we were trying to do things by majority vote at the time, and it was decided Castiel was in need of 're-education' _._ Discipline seemed the obvious answer, but I didn't want him in Heaven, so we had to get creative. We tore his grace out, tossed him down, and sent him to live among the fleas. He spoke of the beauty of Earth, so we pushed him into its core, left him to sink in the squalor and see what beauty he could find  _there_.

"But we left too much  _Castiel_ behind. He remembered. He was always nervous, always ranting about angels and demons and the end of the world. Luckily for him, nobody listened, but fourteen years later he  _still_ hadn't adjusted. We decided that his education had failed, stamped him with a big ol' 'F', and sent angels to destroy him and end the problem once and for all.

"Except, of course, it didn't _._ Call it dormant angelic powers, call it luck, but when our team got to Castiel he'd already slashed himself open and daubed a banishing sigil on the walls. He activated it, sent his would-be assassins far, far away, and got himself admitted to a psychiatric hospital for his 'suicide attempt'. I always found that ironic.

"That was the start of a four year mini civil-war. The majority of the Host adored Castiel, for reasons I can't even begin to fathom. Anna, Inias, Samandriel and Balthazar spearheaded a group urging us to let him live. Eventually, my side relented. Eighteen years had passed since Castiel fell, and to be blunt, I was getting sick of dealing with him. We came to an agreement- they'd fix Castiel's mind up, plaster it over with a thick sediment of denial and bullcrap. That way, if he was needed again, we could break him open and get our fallen angel back. Balthazar volunteered to do it, and we didn't see the bastard again until he cropped up last month."

"But you kept Cas in the hospital," Dean interrupts. "Why?"

"I'm not an idiot, that's why. I wanted an eye kept on him, and it was easy enough to…  _persuade_ the staff to keep him there. Half the time, they forgot he was even a patient. It seemed as good a holding pen as any.

"When you were dragged to Hell and Lilith's plan got out, there was uproar. The grunts were desperate to lay siege to Hell, to get you out before you broke the first Seal, and after Castiel's betrayal we knew better than to try and explain just  _why_ we were so against the idea. As for Castiel, there were angels demanding we brought him back, saying we needed all the manpower we could get.

"So we took those two nasty, nasty birdies, and picked up one sizeable stone. We told everybody that there was no need for fighting- there are ways to get someone out of Hell without shedding blood. We'd make a deal with Hell to let us take you, raise you, turn you into a guardian- and even better, we'd assign you to Castiel. The siege was called off and, well, if pulling you free took a little longer than envisioned, that's hardly our fault. These deals are notoriously tricky to cultivate."

"So you had Cas start hunting with Sam to stop the lower-downs from asking questions," Dean says bitterly. "They thought you were protecting Seals and bringing Castiel back to boot."

"Bringing together their long-lost brother with the righteous man and Sam Winchester, one of the few people with the potential to stop Lilith? It gave them hope. It kept them from questioning _._ "

"But you never meant to bring Castiel back," Dean says. "Sure, you made them discharge him when Sam turned up, and sure, you've had me and Anna keep him alive- but you were never gonna let him get back into Heaven."

"Ahh, now you're getting it."

"Then why plug him back into the angel feed?"

Zachariah shrugs. "The world's ending, dumpling. We've got nothing to lose by pulling Castiel up and seeing if all the horror he's known, all that pain, has changed his mind on how valuable this stinking planet is. This is his final chance. Who knows? Maybe he'll have learned his lesson. Personally, I don't think he will have, but that just means I get the pleasure of killing him myself."

Dean snarls and steps forward. Zachariah smirks.

"You know, he tried so hard," Zachariah simpers. "We told him how he'd failed us, gave the order for his exile, and he  _begged_ us not to do it. He pleaded, over and over- 'brother, don't."

 _Brother, don't._ The words ricocheting around Castiel's dreams, his world of pain and light and noise and loss.  _Please._ Not just a dream, but a memory.

"And how about you, Dean?" Zachariah says. "Would you like to beg too?"

"The only thing I'm gonna be begging for," Dean says, his voice low, "is the chance to shove a sword through your throat, you sadistic, spiteful son of a bitch. You can brag and boast all you want, but at the end of the day, the only thing to pick you out from any other monster I've hunted is one giant-ass superiority complex, and that won't stop you dying bloody."

Zachariah isn't smiling now. "I've had enough of you," he says, and the mocking, jibing tone is gone from his voice, replaced with cold steel and power. Dean goes to answer back, but Zachariah leans forward and clamps his hand down hard on Dean's shoulder.

Nothing happens.

"What, you forget your Weetabix this morning?" Dean jeers.

Zachariah doesn't reply, just stands and regards Dean with harsh, narrowed eyes. Dean shifts uncomfortably.

"What?" he says. He's waiting for an explosion of pain, for the overused blinding light, for  _something._ Nothing comes.

"Would you rather I sliced off your head in one go, or hacked at it for hours with a penknife?" Zachariah says.

"What, so now you're back to threats?"

"No, it's an honest question. See, grace becomes a  _part_ of an angel- even for a revolting half-breed like yourself- and getting rid of it isn't easy. It  _hurts._ For those who choose to fall or those who are thrown, we rip it out in one go. I'm told it's agonising. But you, Dean, have managed to piss me off even more than  _Castiel_  did, and believe me when I say that's no easy task. Your grace will be torn from you, slowly, over the next hour, until nothing is left inside to keep your pathetic heart beating. When your time is up, you'll be dragged back to Hell, where you will suffer and burn until we have use of you again."

"Use of me?" Dean snaps. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Zachariah taps the side of his nose. "Classified. All I can tell you is that you will be offered another deal, one to which you will say 'yes'. Until then, enjoy your last hour on Earth. I'd appreciate it if you and Castiel stayed put."

"My powers aren't blocked," Dean retaliates.

"I have five angels surrounding this room. Uriel in particular would welcome the chance to rip out something vital."

"Uriel's a-" Dean begins, determined to undermine Zachariah in any way he can.

"Traitor?" Zachariah interrupts. "Yawn. Old news _._ Once Lucifer's out, I'll slit Uriel's throat like the worthless bastard pup he is, but until then? We want the same thing, and that's the Cage opened and you out of our way."

"I'm fast," Dean says.

"They're faster. Sorry, kiddo, but you and Castiel are stuck here."

 _Cas._ Dean's been so wrapped up in Zachariah that he'd almost forgotten Cas' condition. Dean looks over to where Cas fell, but the sofa's blocking him from view. Turning away from Zachariah, Dean crosses the cavernous space to check on his ward.

"Make the most of it!" Zachariah calls. "When your hour is up, you'll never see him again."

Cas comes into view. He's leaning against the wall, but his eyes are focused when they meet Dean's. He shifts slightly, not breaking Dean's gaze, and Dean notices that Cas has his wrist pressed hard against his trenchcoat. Behind Cas's lower back, off to his right, is a small, carefully drawn blood sigil.

Cas' lips curl into a small smile. Dean's do the same.

"What are you so happy about?" Zachariah frowns, starting to stride over towards them.

"I'd tell you," Dean says, as Cas pulls his hand back and slams it onto the sigil, "but it's kinda above my pay grade."

Zachariah's furious scream is music to Dean's ears. When the light clears, Cas is already on his feet and gripping Dean's arm.

"Where'd you send him?" Dean says, whipping his head from the empty space Zachariah had occupied back to Cas.

"Away," Cas says grimly. "We need to go."

"Your-"

" _Now,_ Dean."

Dean teleports them out of the beautiful room, taking them back to the sanctuary of the sigil-protected bedroom. When they land, Cas turns towards Dean. He's no longer slumped or trembling- his expression is determined,  _fierce_.

"How much did you hear?" Dean asks.

"Only parts," Cas says, "but it doesn't matter. I remember."

"You  _remember_?"

"Yes," Cas says. "Doubting, questioning, falling… I remember all of it."

"Damn, Cas," Dean breathes, because what can you say to something like that? "Damn. And the voices? The… radio?"

"Still there," Cas confirms. "Now that I know what they are- now that I remember what  _I_ am- they don't cause me any bother." Dean guesses that if you've been hearing a chorus of angels from the moment you were brought into creation, you learn to cope with it.

"So what, you're an angel now?" Dean says, his thoughts thick and muddled and sliding into each other.

"No," Cas says. "Being an angel requires grace, and mine was ripped from me. If I could get it back… until then, I'm just some strange amalgam."

"Like a guardian," Dean says with some bitterness. Cas has always looked at Dean like he's the most important thing in all creation, treated him like he's worth so much more than he is, and the idea of Cas viewing Dean as  _lesser_ is too much to bear. "Lucky for you, I won't be hanging around much longer."

The words have barely left Dean's mouth when lips crash against his, rough hands gripping his arms and yanking him close. When Cas drags his lips away he doesn't loosen his grip, holding Dean in place to scowl at him.

"Zachariah is  _not_ taking you," Cas says, his tone absolute. "You will not go to Hell, Dean, because I will not allow it."

"Right," Dean laughs humourlessly. "Thing is, you're not the first person to say that to me."

"Was the last person an angel?" Cas growls. "I won't allow it," he repeats, and then he lets Dean go.

Cas hasn't got a snowball's chance- but Dean has fifty-eight minutes left on Earth, and he doesn't want to waste them arguing. "We need to get to that chapel," he says instead.

"The moment we leave this house, we're exposed," Cas warns.

"Then we'd better be quick," Dean says, his mouth setting in a grim line. Cas regards him and nods.

"What's our plan?"

"Stop Sam," Dean says bluntly. "Any way you can. Break his damn legs if you have to."

"If Zachariah finds us?"

"I'll hold him off."

"And other angels?"

"I'll hold them  _all_ off."

"Try not to get killed," Cas says bluntly.

"Aww, why not?" Dean says sarcastically.

"As you said, we have things to do," Cas says. "There are certain experiences which require repeating. Multiple times." He makes it sound way nicer than Dean did, and several hundred times more hot.

"Even when you're all angel'd up, and I'm dirt on your shoes?" Dean says, unable to let it go.

"Angel or man or somewhere in-between, you remain the best thing to have happened to me in my incredibly long existence," Cas says, without any hesitation or doubt. Dean chokes on his answer, can only stare. Cas breathes out and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Thank you, Dean. For everything."

It's not the first time Cas has come out with that kind of thing, but considering the context, it feels less like an inappropriately timed intimacy and more like a goodbye.

Dean's never been great with goodbyes. "Save it," he says. "We got a demon to gank."

Cas holds out his hand and Dean takes it. He closes his eyes and thinks _St. Mary's chapel._

* * *

Landing takes the breath out of Dean. Usually teleportation is effortless, nothing more than a blink and a thought, but this journey seemed to take longer than usual. Dean's head aches slightly, like he's been concentrating on a difficult problem for too long, and he thinks with a knot of dread that it's starting. His grace is beginning to fade.

"You think she's there yet?" Dean says. They're standing in the cemetery, alone, the night sky inky black above them. Cas checks his phone.

"It's nearly midnight," he says. "We need to hurry."

"Right," Dean says, and he lets himself shift back into incorporeality. He feels a slight pang of disappointment from Cas, a fleeting brush of loss, and he realises that there's a chance Cas will never see Dean's face again, that Dean has already touched Cas for the final time. Neither of them acknowledge it.

They approach the chapel quickly, sacrificing stealth for speed. Dean's arms and legs are starting to tingle like he has pins and needles, a niggling pain that won't go away. He scans for angels or demons or anything else that might try and interfere as they approach the entrance. The front door is slowly swinging to a close.

 _ **They're here,**_  Dean says to Cas.

"So are we," Cas growls, and when he kicks the door open with his dagger gripped in his hand, Dean finally understands what he's seeing. Cas isn't a pistol-whipped doormat or a sneering sadist- Dean is seeing someone brave, someone loyal to those they believe in, someone who isn't going down without a fight. He's seeing an angel, as they're supposed to be.

They hurry through the narrow corridors until they round a corner and find what they're looking for. There's a woman in a white dress spread across the altar, with the most disgusting face Dean's ever seen pinned to her vessel's front.  _Lilith._ Sam is facing her, his back to the door and Castiel, and standing to the side is Ruby.

Ruby catches Cas' eye and her lips curve into a smile. At first, Dean doesn't understand why she looks so  _happy_ , but then the pieces all fall into place. This is why Ruby's been so damn helpful, why she's saved Sam life again and again. She's been making sure Sam doesn't break a leg before the opening night, keeping him safe and sound for the final showdown, when Lilith falls and Lucifer rises.

Dean suddenly remembers the first time Ruby heard of the Seals being broken, the smile he had explained away as a grimace.  _I should've guessed._ Ruby's known what's going on from day one, and they've been playing straight into her hands.

Ruby raises a hand and the heavy doors slam closed. Cas twists at the handle, but the doors won't budge. _I should've guessed,_ Dean thinks again **.** _I should've goddamn_ known _._

"Sam!" Cas shouts, banging on the door. "Sam!"

Dean concentrates on the lock.  _Break._ There's more than metal holding the door closed, though- this is a demon's will versus an angel's. Dean can hear blood rushing in his ears, can see white spots breaking up his vision, but he grits his teeth and keeps focusing on the lock.  _Just friggin' break, would you?_

Suddenly, Dean finds himself being flung through the air. He hits the wall so hard it makes his teeth rattle. His arms and legs still hurt, but now they won't even move, pinned to the wall by an invisible force.

"You really are determined to make me the laughing stock of Heaven, aren't you?" Zachariah hisses as he advances towards Dean. "Well, no more."

 _ **He's not listening!**_ Cas shouts in frustration. He's still banging on the door, Zachariah and Dean both invisible and imperceptible to his still-human eyes. Dean is going to die inches away from Cas, and Cas isn't going to know until he calls Dean's name and doesn't get a reply. Maybe it's better that way.

 _ **It's okay,**_ Dean says, because he's damned if he's using his dying breath to make Cas feel like a failure.  _ **You tried. It's okay.**_

 _ **Dean?**_ Cas says.

_**You did good, Cas.** _

Zachariah pauses, and a malicious leer takes over his face. He shoots Dean a sharp look and Dean feels himself drop into visibility.

"I thought he'd want to see this," Zachariah explains, with a nod of his head towards Castiel. Cas pulls back from the door and snaps his head around wildly, but Zachariah ignores him. There's something in Zachariah's hand- a blade Dean's never seen before, long and glistening silver.

Cas has turned away from the door, his focus falling on Zachariah.

"Let him  _go,_ " Castiel warns, his voice low. Zachariah doesn't even look at him.

 _ **Forget it!**_  Dean urges Cas.  _ **Focus on Sam!**_

"Can you hear something?" Dean hears his brother say from inside the room. Zachariah hasn't cloaked himself and by forcing Castiel to hear, he's letting Sam listen in.

"It's only Castiel," Ruby snaps.

"No, there's some-"

"Does it matter?" Ruby shouts. "Kill her!"

"Take your best shot," Dean hears Lilith challenge.

Zachariah smirks, then focuses. "A slow revenge would have been more satisfying, but we can't always get what we want," he says. "Enjoy Hell, Dean."

Zachariah raises the blade behind him, preparing to bring it down. Dean keeps his eyes on Zachariah's, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing Dean afraid.  _I'll save a spot on the rack for you._

The cold bite of metal never comes, though, and Zachariah howls in anger and pain. Dean is sprayed with something warm and wet, and when he looks down he sees that Zachariah's fingers are half severed, blood gushing from the ugly knots of muscle and bone. Zachariah keeps Dean pinned against the wall but turns around to face Castiel, who's darted away again.

"What the hell was that?" Dean hears Sam yelp.

"Sam,  _kill her_!" Ruby screams, near-hysterical.

Castiel's own freshly-bloodied knife lies on the floor. He holds Zachariah's in front of him, wielding it with both hands like a sword.

"You  _child_ ," Zachariah snarls at Castiel. "You know, I never did like you."

"The feeling is mutual," Cas replies.

"You picked the wrong time to develop a sense of humour," Zachariah warns. His fingers are already healing, skin and bone knitting together and nails pushing from their beds.

"In my defence, you're incredibly easy to laugh at," Castiel retorts. Sam's objections have stopped; there is no sound coming from the room at all. Dean still can't move, can only listen and watch as Sam welcomes in the apocalypse and Zachariah and Castiel face off.

"You really want to talk to me like that?" Zachariah demands of Castiel. " _You_? Didn't you learn your lesson before?"

"I learned how pathetic you are," Castiel spits. "How insignificant, how feeble. I'm not afraid of you, Zachariah- nobody is. You give us no reason to be."

"I'll give you reason," Zachariah snarls, and then he attacks. He slams Castiel up against the wall, pushing an arm hard against his throat. Zachariah effortlessly yanks the blade from Castiel's hands and raises it high in the air, ready to kill the brother he's wanted dead for so very long.

Overwhelming, instinctive rage floods Dean, rage and wrath and  _power._ In the split second before he moves, he allows himself to smile, because pride was always going to be Zachariah's downfall, and antagonising assholes is a skill Cas learned from the best.

Breaking free from the hold is effortless, nearly as easy as sending the blade spinning from Zachariah's hand. Zachariah turns and Dean sends him hurtling backwards, slamming into the heavy wooden doors that Ruby had locked. Dean throws a hand out and they fly open. Lilith is writhing in agony on the dais, but when the door bursts open Sam releases her and whirls around.

Dean focuses on Zachariah, grabbing hold of the seraph's mind and  _wrenching,_ and Zachariah's back arches as he screams. Ruby flies at Cas and Dean knocks her back without even thinking about it. Lilith's eyes flash pure white, and the power that's been building inside of Dean finally reaches its peak. The room fills with light, the air singing with white noise, and Dean's wings flare out behind him as he snarls.

Killing Ruby is easy, like snuffing out a flame. She doesn't even have time to scream before she's crumpling to the ground. It goes against every instinct and drive Dean has  _not_ to kill Lilith, but he manages it; he takes hold and drags her down below the point of consciousness, leaves her trapped under the ice.

Dean's still falling, falling faster than ever, and handling the demons has taken its toll on him. He doesn't have the power to ignite Zachariah's grace and watch it burn, so instead he forces sharpened hate down Zachariah's throat and shreds what he finds inside, tearing at the angel's grace and the vessel's flesh over and over and over until he  _can't_ anymore, until he falls to his knees and lets Zachariah go.

The entire process, from Lilith's eyes changing colour to the light beginning to fade away, takes less than two seconds.

Ruby's vessel lies on the ground. With her arms curled in front of her and her face turned into the ground, she could be sleeping. Lilith is comatose and Zachariah is awake, moaning in pain. Sam and Cas are the only ones left standing; Cas framed in the doorway, Sam's face drained of all colour.

"You need to exorcise Lilith," Cas says, stumbling forwards to plant his hands on Sam's shoulders. Sam tears his eyes away from Ruby's body, searching Cas' face in confusion.

"You mean kill her?"

" _No._ Exorcise her."

"But the final Seal-"

"- is broken with her death."

Zachariah is still whimpering, and Sam glances over at him uncertainly. Dean doesn't know how long it will take Lilith to claw her way back to consciousness, and he'd rather not find out. Every part of him hurts- not just his body, but his mind, his  _wings._

Sam swallows, hard. "I saw- I  _thought_  I saw…"

"Sam, we don't have time," Cas says. " _Please._ "

For a moment, for a long, long moment, Dean thinks Sam's going to ignore him. He thinks that Sam's still a broken little boy in a weaponised shell, ready to sacrifice the entire world if it gets him one step closer to seeing his big brother again.

Sam turns away from Cas and holds out a trembling hand. A single tear runs down Sam's cheek as black smoke dribbles from Lilith's nose, from her mouth, a flaming hole opening in the ground and sucking her back down to Hell. Dean watches as Lilith's true face melts from the vessel like wax dripping from a candle, leaving behind nothing but an unfortunate dental hygienist from Indiana.

"Thank you," Cas says with exhausted, intense gratitude. Sam rubs a hand across his face.

"Ruby…" Sam begins.

"I don't know," Cas says. Dean tries to reach out and tell him that she's gone, but he finds that there's nothing to grab hold of. He thinks the words at Cas as hard as he can, but Cas shows no sign of having heard them. Suddenly, Cas' presence doesn't feel so strong in Dean's head, the weight slipping from the fishing line.

"Put her in a Devil's trap," Cas advises. "That way, if she does wake up, you'll be able to question her in safety."

Dean thinks that Cas is worried, but he's reading that from the lines of Cas' face and the look in his eyes; no matter how hard he concentrates, the only feelings in his head are his own. A memory- a simple recollection of Alastair's blade slicing through his calf- wanders almost absently into Dean's mind. He's sped up the process of falling, and the blocks Heaven put in place are crumbling along with everything else.

Sam breathes out a cascade of curse words. "Fine," he says tightly, slipping a hand into his pocket to retrieve one of the miniature cans of spray paint that he and Cas buy in bulk.

The pain is growing stronger, and Dean feels oddly strained. It reminds him of when he and Sam used to see how long they could squat for with their backs against the wall, holding out until their legs burned and forced them to abandon their invisible seats. Dean's teetering on the edge of corporeality, unable to control which way he's going to drop.

"Take her outside," Cas says suddenly.

"What?"

"The chapel has many rooms- take her into one. Somebody should stay with Lilith's vessel in case she wakes, and I'm guessing you'll want to speak with Ruby alone."

Sam looks like he's about to argue, but then his eyes flicker back down to where Ruby's dark hair is fanned out across the floor. He nods.

"You have so damn much to explain," Sam says to Cas. He sounds confused, hurt- and tired, so very tired.

"I will," Cas swears. Sam picks Ruby up carefully, cradling her to his chest, and carries her out. As soon as Sam is gone, Cas slams the doors shut again, sliding the lock into place.

 _I really don't want to be interrupted._ The words are thorns, sharp in Dean's head.

"Dean?" Cas calls softly- and honestly, it's a relief to fall into corporeality. Dean's slumped on his knees, head hanging low because he's struggling to find the energy to lift it. The pins and needles have turned to knives, hundreds of invisible blades plunging into his flesh. There's unease building inside him too, the precursor to the all-consuming guilt and horror he knows is to come.  _This is it, kids. This is how Dean Winchester goes out._ It's not really what he'd hoped for.

Cas is with him in moments. His hands are on Dean's face, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones.

"Hey," Dean says, looking up at Cas groggily.

"Why can't I hear you in my head?" Cas says, clearly troubled. "Has the link gone?"

"Sure looks that way," Dean says. Red-hot heat and pressure shoots across his back, like something latching on and pulling hard, and Dean realises with dulled surprise that his wings are being wrenched off. They've been useless, eerie things, but he thinks he's going to miss them all the same- that is, if he  _can_  still miss things once he's back on the rack. As far as Dean remembers- and he  _does_ remember, can remember more clearly with each second that passes- cognitive processes get kinda stunted when you're under that much torture.

"Zachariah said you'd have an hour," Cas says agitatedly as Dean's face contorts with pain.

"Yeah," Zachariah wheezes. Dean had nearly forgotten he was there, lying wrecked in the corner. Dean starts to wonder how quickly the seraph will heal, but a wave of ice-cold fear smashes into him and sucks his thoughts away.

"Lover boy… had an hour… but he wasted it… on you," Zachariah slurs between gasps for air. "He went… drag racing on … an empty tank. I should… thank you. You helped me… kill him… quicker."

"Shut up," Dean rasps.

"What?" Zachariah says, voice still shaking from pain. "Is your little… interspecies love fest… a secret now? I mean… lying with a… worthless mutt… like Dean? You've always been strange... Castiel… but you've never been… sordid."

Cas stands up, and Dean misses the warmth of his fingers, the closeness of his body. Cas turns and strides forward, bending to snatch up Zachariah's blade without breaking stride. Dean watches the metal glisten in the candlelight, finding he cannot persuade his body to move, as Cas closes the gap between him and Zachariah.

"No," Zachariah wheezes, trying to scoot backwards as Cas looms over him. "You can't… please, Castiel… brother,  _don't._ "

"I think it's a little late for that, don't you?" Castiel snarls, and he drives the blade into Zachariah's chest. Zachariah jerks, white fire pouring from his eyes and mouth and splintering out around the blade. Cas yanks the knife back out and light explodes into the room. To Dean's amazement, charcoal-black wings are blasted across the wall, radiating out from where Zachariah lies dead. Dean's own wings are still being ripped from his flesh, and Cas drops the blade and returns to Dean's side.

" _Dude_ ," Dean says approvingly, wincing as a bolt of pain passes through him. "That was badass."

Cas' image splits suddenly, duplicating like Dean is seeing it through a kaleidoscope. One pleads on its knees, another screaming as blood begins to trickle down its face, and the third looks at Dean with sorrow, reaches out a hand to touch his face.

"It's hallucination station over here," Dean says weakly. The third Cas' eyes flicker to Dean's chest suddenly, and then all three snap back into one, stumbling backwards.

"Cas?" Dean says, and he stifles a cry as the pain is dialled up another notch. Memories from Heaven and Hell bustle against each other as they push to the surface of his mind, self-hate and sadness growing all the while.

Cas turns away slightly and presses his hands to his head. He slams a fist against the ground in sudden frustration, but composes himself and focuses again. His lips move slightly but he stays silent, and then Dean hears the unmistakable flutter of wings.

Dean lolls his head to look. Fire licks at the corner of Dean's vision, but he's pretty sure it's a hallucination. The existence of the angel standing in front of Castiel is less clear.

"Cas!" Balthazar says, sounding pleased. "I heard that Zachariah was thinking of pulling you back up, but I didn't-"

"I need your help," Cas cuts him off. Balthazar is obviously taken aback, but when his eyes fall on Dean, they soften.

"Oh, Cassie," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't need your sympathy, I need your help," Cas says. The fire Dean can see is catching and growing, and he keeps thinking that he can see Sam and Cas burning in it. He can hear their screams.  _You watched them die, in Heaven, you watched and you did nothing._

"With what?" Balthazar says.

"Gathering reagents," Cas says. "Even if I knew where to find them, I don't have the time."

"Maybe you forgot how things work in your stint as a glorified bonobo, but I'm not your bloody errand boy," Balthazar says in disbelief. "If you want a messenger, try Inias."

"I did. He's busy, Anna's not responding, Samandriel's too inexperienced- I've tried everyone, Balthazar, and nobody's answering."

"Can you blame them? From what I hear, the final Seal is minutes from being broken. We're a little busy to play cosmic Supermarket Sweep."

"The Seal is safe," Cas snaps. "We saved it.  _Dean_ saved it, and now he's dying, and if you aren't going to help then tell me who will, because I've wasted enough time already."

Dean catches the material of his jacket between his teeth and bites down hard. The pain's gotten so bad that he thinks he is probably going to start screaming soon.

"Balthazar,  _please_ ," Cas says.

"Ahh, the magic word," Balthazar murmurs. He looks over at Dean and sighs. "Tell me what you need."

"Blood of calf, fossilised bark, angelica root-"

Balthazar disappears. Cas starts to curse, but Balthazar reappears and pushes a wooden bowl into Cas' hands. He vanishes again, and Cas falls to his knees and begins to murmur something over the bowl, running his finger around the rim. Dean can hear the grinding of stones, the roaring of flames, the sound of whips lashing and children crying.

"Sand," Dean hears Cas order over the clamour. "Silver."

"What are you  _doing_?" Balthazar says, but Cas doesn't reply. Dean digs his nails into his palms and tenses his muscles as a spasm of agony rips through him. He cries around the material wadded in his mouth as someone takes a red hot blade to his wing joint, curves his back in a futile attempt to get away from something he can't escape.

Balthazar transfers a handful of powder to Cas, who dumps it straight into the bowl. Balthazar is starting to look uneasy.

"You're not…"

"Silver?" Cas says. Balthazar throws over a broken bracelet, which Cas catches and drops into the bowl. "Taipan venom," Cas says, the next item on the list.

"You  _are_!" Balthazar accuses. "Are you mad? It won't work."

"Not without venom, no."

Balthazar disappears and reappears a few seconds later, a tiny vial between his fingers. Dean lets his eyes fall closed as pain wracks his body, and tries not to sob. He just wants it to  _end. Except it'll never end, it'll only ever get worse and worse. That's Hell, that's the_ point.

"I mean it, Cas," Balthazar says. "You know what you are to me, but I'm not raiding Heaven's private pantry for you- well, not for  _him_."

"I'm not asking you to," Cas says, and then his voice slips away.

 _I killed you,_ Dean thinks,  _I'm the reason you died so many times over. You and Sammy both._ The memories are coming thick and fast, the grief nearly as fierce as the pain shredding his body. Dean thinks that, now, he is probably screaming. It's hard to know.

"Dean?" someone asks, someone keeps on asking.  _DeanDeanDeanDeanDean. Just let me die._

"Keep your eyes open," Cas demands. "Keep them on me."

Dean can't, he won't, he doesn't want to. He hurt Cas and he watched Cas gets hurt and it's all he can think of, all he can see when he looks anywhere, at anything. Why won't he hurry up and  _die_?

"On  _me_ ," Cas says again, and this time Dean obeys. He knows that doesn't deserve it, but he wants to see Cas' eyes, just more time.

In the dingy chapel, they shine as brightly as the candles, somehow clearer than everything else. That was the one thing Heaven got wrong, Dean thinks. They'd recreated Castiel a hundred times over, a new Cas for each new punishment, and they'd all been carbon copies of the man himself- except for the eyes. They were never bright enough, never  _blue_ enough.

Balthazar reappears ( _he left?)_  with various reagents clutched in his arms, but Dean pays him little attention. A memory of Cas' dead body, his throat torn out, attempts to invade Dean's head. Dean manages to keep it at bay, his eyes still fixed on Cas'. Those eyes are real, this Cas is real,  _this_  is real.

"You do know this won't work," Balthazar says as Castiel works.

"It's nearly complete," Cas says, ignoring him. "I need-"

"Cherry blossom, I know, and cypress. But you know what  _else_  you need for this, and you know that you don't have it."

"I do," Cas says curtly, and  _that_ makes Balthazar shut up.

"You-"

"Balthazar,  _go!_ "

"The thanks I get," Balthazar mutters, but he does as he's asked. The pain ripping into Dean is vicious, but it's  _real_ , and so he clings onto it. He's not in Hell yet, he's never going to Heaven again- right now, he's here, on Earth.

"What're you doing?" Dean tries to ask, but it comes out as slurred nonsense. Balthazar appears, drops a handful of coloured petals into Cas' bowl, and looks over at where Zachariah's dead body lies with mild interest.

"Has he been there this whole time?" Balthazar asks.

"Yes," Castiel says, swirling the mixture together with his fingers and then shaking them dry.

"How awkward. What happened to him?"

"Me," Cas growls.

"You shouldn't queue-jump," Balthazar scolds. Cas picks up the silver dagger by his feet and, without hesitating for a second, cuts a neat line across his own wrist.

"Whose is it?" Balthazar asks. Castiel ignores him, intently watching his blood drip into the bowl.

"Cas!" Balthazar shouts.  _Sam'll hear,_ Dean thinks, but the words have ceased to hold meaning. Dean can't feel his wings anymore, and the pain is so intense that it almost doesn't hurt, pushing at the edges of euphoria. This is it; he's about to die.  _Thank you, thank you, oh God, thank you._

"What?" Cas says distractedly, blood dribbling down his arm as he picks up and swirls the bowl.

"Answer the question!"

Cas reaches towards Dean, but rather than cupping his face, his hand darts lower. Cas grabs hold, yanks, and the chain around Dean's neck snaps. Dean went fifteen years without taking off Sam's amulet; it was easy to forget Anna's necklace was even there _._  He'd dismissed as something beyond his understanding, to be worn without question. Cas moves backwards, holding the vial that's been hanging from Dean's neck ever since Zachariah pulled him from Hell.

"Castiel, whose grace are you using?" Balthazar demands. Castiel cracks the glass vial against the inside of the bowl and light blasts out, first in slivers and then in one huge, all-consuming beam.

" _Mine_ ," Cas snarls, and then the world is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan art:
> 
>   
> This piece is by the incredible [angelsexuality.](http://miitre.tumblr.com/post/49624782271/how-did-we-end-up-like-this-part-3-casually)
> 
>   
>   
> And both of those are by the lovely [nekoshojo.](http://nekoshojo.tumblr.com/post/49650022155)
> 
> Thank you so much, guys!


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part! It's quite a lot shorter than the others, but it still has three attached songs like all the other parts. I've also uploaded a .rar file containing all of the playlist songs and the lyrics document, to make it easier to get everything in one go. That's all [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3l9zywc70chpn12/Axk_jyLxV2). 
> 
> I haven't replied to individual reviews, but please know that I have read every single one, and every single one has made me smile like a four year old given a talking kitten that can spontaneously produce ice cream cones.
> 
> I am so, so grateful to everyone who read this, left a review, downloaded the playlist, looked at the fanart, or simply put up with my ranting and rambling. You are wonderful, fantastic people, and I can only hope that reading this fic has given you even a tenth of the enjoyment that reading your reviews has given me. Thank you.

 

_In the morning light, let my roots take flight,_  
 _Watch me fall above, like a vicious dove_  
 _They don't see me come, who can blame them?_  
 _They never seemed to catch my eye, but I never wondered why._

_\- Tiptoe, Imagine Dragons_

* * *

Angels, Dean thinks, really need to quit relying on this 'blinding light' shtick.

It's the first thought he has, the first thing that enters his mind as the terrible noise that had filled his ears (a sound like the sun swallowing itself, like a bolt of lightning catching flame, like screaming wind pouring into a bottomless ravine and somehow filling the space) leaks away. The backs of Dean's eyelids fade back into view and he thinks  _seriously, this is getting ridiculous._

The next thing he realises is that someone is gripping his hand. Dean opens his eyes to see who it is.

" _Dean,_ " Cas says, his voice cracking, and then Dean finds himself being pulled tight against Cas' chest and kissed. Dean feels drained and weak and more tired than he's ever been before, but he still moves his arms to hold Cas as close as his exhausted body will allow. Balthazar makes a noise of disgust, which Dean elects to ignore. He figures he's earned this.

When Cas pulls away, Dean lets his body slump. As his back hits the wall, he realises that there is nothing to shield it from the stone. His wings are gone. They don't feel amputated or frozen- they don't feel  _anything,_ because they are not there. The realisation fills Dean with a strange sensation of loss- of loneliness, even.  _RIP, you freaky bastard things._ The moment passes when his eyes fall back on Cas' face. Dean's never seen a person look more awed than Cas, more  _thankful_.

"Don't start praying on me," Dean mumbles, letting his eyelids slide shut. He hears a quiet flutter of wings and assumes that Balthazar's left.

"Am I too late?" a familiar voice says, and Dean opens his eyes again. Balthazar and Cas haven't left, but now Inias stands in the middle of the room too, his tie askew and blood soaking through his shirt. Anna's body is clasped to his chest, her long red hair smoothed back behind her ears. She's not moving. Dean tries to scrabble his way to sitting up, dread engulfing him.

"No," Balthazar says. "No, it worked perfectly."

Dean can't help but notice that Balthazar doesn't sound particularly happy about that. The angel is eyeing Cas with a mixture of confusion and revulsion- like he doesn't understand what Cas just did, but he knows that he doesn't like it.

"I'm sorry that I didn't come when you called," Inias says to Cas. "As I said, I was otherwise engaged."

"Will she be alright?" Cas asks in concern, looking at Anna.

"I think so," Inias says, "but she's hurt. It took me a long time to fight my way to her." Dean slumps in relief.

"You snatched her out of discipline?" Balthazar says. "Raphael is going to crucify you."

"Let him try," Inias says, his mouth setting in a grim line. He glances over at Zachariah. "Who did that?"

"Cas," Dean says, more than a little proud.

"Oh," Inias says mildly, and then turns back to Cas. "It's good to have you back with us," he says, and whilst his voice is tired, the warmth sounds genuine.

"I'm not really sure that 'back' is the right term," Balthazar sniffs. Dean leans forwards to snag Castiel's coat sleeve, and he turns his attention back to Dean.

"What did you do?" Dean asks. His memory of what happened is fuzzy, and he's not all that sure where reality started and hallucination stopped.

"A spell," Cas answers. Dean's grip on his sleeve loosens, and Cas drops his arm to lace their fingers together.

"Using  _grace_ ," Balthazar says. "His, to be exact."

"The grace of the fallen is kept in Heaven," Inias frowns. "How could you have had access to it?"

"It was that vial, right?" Dean says. "Anna gave me it to keep."

"That would explain it," Inias says, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Anna is the guardian of the grace."

"Meaning?"

"When an angel chooses to fall- because some do choose, Dean- their grace is removed, condensed, and kept in the vaults of Heaven. Archangels and seraphs have access to those rooms, but very few angels do- as far as I know, Anna is the only one. Her role is to defend and protect those vaults- grace is considered a valuable commodity."

"So how come she gave me Cas'?"

"She must have trusted you to take care of it." Inias' eyes fall to the angel in his arms, and a soft smile tugs at his lips. "She never did like it being in Zachariah's hands."

"I don't understand you, Cas," Balthazar says from nowhere. He's still staring at Castiel, his face creased in disappointment. "You gave up your grace for a  _human._ "

"I  _am_  a human," Cas replies evenly.

"No, you're not! You're an angel, Cas. Even bloody  _Zachariah_ was on board with bringing you back. You were supposed to come home. Instead, you went and wasted the key ingredient on…  _that_ ," he says, flapping a hand in Dean's general direction.

"Thanks," Dean says. Balthazar glares.

"Balthazar, I know you don't understand-" Cas begins.

"That's for sure," Balthazar says in disgust, and then he's gone. Dean brushes a thumb over Cas' knuckles.

"What a dick," he mutters. Cas doesn't reply.

"I have to go," Inias says apologetically. "Anna needs healing."

Cas nods. "Of course."

"Balthazar will come around," Inias says. "You know how he is with humans."

Cas nods again. Inias' mouth curves in sympathy, and then he vanishes. Dean still doesn't really understand what's going on, but he takes advantage of the privacy to reach up to kiss Cas again- because they're both somehow still here, because they might get to stick around that bit longer, because he  _can._

"We should check on Sam," Cas says when they break apart. Dean stares wordlessly, his mouth suddenly dry.  _Sam._  There are no wings on Dean's back and no voice in his mind- does that mean what Dean thinks it does? Does that mean Sam can...?

He eventually manages a nod, and Cas helps pull him to his feet.

Cas unlocks the door and Dean follows him out, his steps shaky. "Sam?" Cas calls. By the time Dean makes it into the hallway Cas is already halfway along it, holding open a door and looking in.

"She's dead," Dean hears Sam say, this voice thick. "I tried… I didn't know if maybe I could bring her back, but… she's gone."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas says, his words heartfelt.

"Yeah," Sam says wearily. "Me too."

Dean's vision floods with black as his body makes a sudden objection to remaining upright.  _Man up and deal,_ he tells himself impatiently. Dean clings to the wall and continues making his unsteady way towards Cas.

"What happened here, Cas?" Sam asks, at a loss. "One second I'm about to kill Lilith and the next there's this banging on the door, and all these voices, and then this  _light_ and I swear- I swear I saw a shape in it, Cas. There was this…  _outline_ , and it looked like- listen, I know this sounds ridiculous, but it looked like  _Dean_ \- only it had wings, and then it was gone, and I…"

Sam's words die as Dean finally makes it to the doorway. He thuds to a rest against the doorframe, his breathing laboured. Their eyes meet and Sam's mouth falls open, his eyes doubling in size.

"D-Dean?" he whispers.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, and he manages a weak grin before he passes out.

* * *

Dean's vaguely aware, like looking through a window fogged with condensation, that somebody is sitting at the end of his bed. He thinks they're asleep; their head is slumped onto their chest, their dark shaggy hair hanging over their face. Their hand is outstretched to rest on the end of the bed, like they're afraid someone might snatch Dean away if they let go. Dean falls back into unconsciousness with no warning.

Dean sleeps and wakes. There's always someone sitting in the chair by his bed, but who that person is changes. Once, he come round to the sound of an argument somewhere nearby, but he can't make out any of the words. An unmeasurable period of time later, he finds someone holding a plastic cup to his mouth. Dean lets rivulets of water run down his throat, coughing as some goes down the wrong way, but he passes out before he can thank whoever's holding the cup.

When Dean wakes properly, it's Cas who's by his side. He's reading, chair pulled close to the end of Dean's bed. He's got his feet tucked under him like when they first met, but now he wears a hunter's jeans and layered shirts, clothes to keep you warm if you have to run and hide with no prior warning. Dean lies in place and scrutinises Cas, noting that one of his eyes is bruised and swollen, and both are underlined with dark shadows.  _Someone's been fighting when they should have been sleeping._

The bed is hard and uncomfortable, and the aching of Dean's body seems to start somewhere deep within his bones. He tries to push himself to sitting, and Cas looks up. "Dean?"

"The one and only," Dean croaks. The book drops from Cas' lap as he rushes forwards to kneel by Dean's side.

"How're you feeling?" Cas asks, brushing the hair from Dean's forehead as his eyes flicker over Dean's face.

"Been better," Dean says. His voice sounds rusty, like dragging nails down a washboard. "Been worse, though. How long was I out for?"

"It's been three days," Cas tells him. "You woke up several times, but never for very long."

"Where's Sam?"

"Sleeping," Cas says, mouth setting in a firm line. "We've been taking shifts. Of course, none of us wanted to leave you at all, but there were some… compatibility issues."

"Okay, hold on," Dean says, trying to sit up again and succeeding this time. "Who's 'us'?"

"Sam, Bobby and myself."

It's only then that Dean realises why his 'bed' is so damn uncomfortable. He's in the panic room, though he's not tied down; the whole 'returning from the dead' thing must have freaked Sam and Bobby out. Dean catches glimpse of a thin red cut on his arm, and assumes that they've carried out the standard tests. He also assumes that, since he's still alive, he passed.

"I can wake Sam," Cas offers.

"No, not yet," Dean says. If Sam looks anything like Cas does right now, then the kid needs his sleep- and if Dean's honest, he could really do with a few minutes to try and sort out his world before he has to face it. He's not used to talking to people that aren't Cas. "How much did you tell him?"

"Everything."

Dean goes to reply, before realising he's not actually sure if that's good or bad. "How'd he take it?"

"He was very confused, and then very angry, and then he punched me several times which seemed to help."

Dean winces in sympathy. "Sorry," he says. Cas shakes his head.

"It's not your fault," Cas says, sitting on the end of the cot. "I explained what would have happened if either of us broke confidentiality, and he said he understood, but that doesn't mean… it's been a lot for him to take in."

"I'll say," Dean snorts. Cas smiles slightly, looking at Dean fondly, and something ghastly occurs to Dean. "Uh, when you say  _everything…_ "

Cas looks faintly guilty. "Bobby did point out afterwards that I could have chosen a better time," he says.

"You're telling me that Sam knows we're- uh- a thing?" Dean says in disbelief.

"If by that you mean that we're in a sexual relationship, than yes."

It's so incredibly, ridiculously surreal that Dean actually finds himself chuckling. Maybe it should bother him more, but he can't help but laugh at the idea of how that conversation must have gone. He imagines Cas solemnly explaining everything- telling Sam that Dean's been hanging around for months as an angel, that Cas himself was an angel once, that the things Sam thought were dreams weren't all that imaginary- and then calmly dropping the bombshell that one time, he and Dean totally got it on. Dean bets Sam's face was goddamn  _priceless._

"Was that why he hit you?" Dean asks, because the idea of Sam 'defending his honour' is too glorious to pass up. He takes Cas' awkward silence as a 'yes', and laughs so hard that his ribs start to hurt. Cas doesn't seem to get why it's funny, but that makes it even better.

"Other than that, how is he?" Dean asks, more sombre now. "I mean, I don't see him strapped down in here with me. You been giving him the demon blood through bendy straws?"

"No," Cas says, shaking his head. "He's fine. It's like he was never addicted. We can't explain it."

Okay, Dean doesn't like the sound of that. "You think Anna or Inias know anything?"

"Possibly, but we haven't heard from them," Cas says. "Things have been quiet, on all fronts."

"No post-averted-apocalypse house parties, huh?"

"No," Cas says. "I did get this, though." He pulls down the neck of his t-shirt to reveal the tips of a freshly healing tattoo, straight above his heart.

"Good man," Dean says. The memory of Asmodeus' rotting-flower breath ghosting against his lips comes to mind, and is immediately chased away again. Cas getting the anti-possession symbol is  _way_  overdue. "Did you scream?"

"No."

"Oh,  _sure_ ," Dean says with a wink. Cas ignores him.

"How're you feeling?" he asks instead. "Heaven, Hell- what do you remember?"

"Same as ever," Dean grunts. "I remember everything; I just don't feel a damn thing." It's freaking him out, to be honest. Maybe he should be grateful, but he wants out of anything angel-related- one hundred percent  _out_. "What're you thinking? Angel leftovers?"

"No," Cas says. "The grace was enough to stabilise you and stop your fall, but not enough to keep you as any form of angel. You're completely human."

Dean had guessed as much. His wings are gone, along with Cas' permanent residence in his mind, and there's a hollow ache in his gut that he's only just identified as being hunger. Messed-about memories aside, there's no way Dean can deny that he's one hundred percent human. It feels strange, but good- like coming home after a long time at sea.

"And you?" Dean asks.

"Human," Cas confirms. "For good this time."

Guilt tears at Dean, clambering into his body and informing him that it intends to stay. "Using up your grace," he says. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I shouldn't have  _had_  to," Cas agrees. "But as Zachariah took that choice away, it seems a moot point."

"I meant you should've let me die," Dean says, and it comes out louder than he meant it to. Cas narrows his eyes.

"You have spent," he says, "five months watching over me. You have guarded me, and you have protected me, and you have cared for me. Did it really never occur to you that that could be mutual?"

"I-"

" _And_  there's an additional factor to consider," Cas says. Dean regards him suspiciously.

"What?"

"I love you," Cas says, matter-of-fact as ever, and Jesus Christ, Dean's glad he's back in a human body because he's going to need to consume vast quantities of alcohol very soon. That being said, Dean has to admit that this particular shock feels… pretty damn good, actually.

"I- same," Dean says, and whilst he means for it to come out gruffly, he can't seem to control the smile spreading over his face; apparently he's determined to continue his live-long habit of having badly timed heart-to-hearts during crises. Cas smiles back- a smaller thing, shy, but it still feels good to be the cause of it. Dean doesn't think he'll ever stop wanting to make Cas smile.

Something occurs to Dean. "We are so not telling Sam we said that."

"No?"

" _No._ Let's try and limit how much of his world view we shatter at a time, huh?"

"Okay," Cas consents. Dean swings his legs over the side of the cot so that he's sitting next to Cas and arches his aching back, hearing his spine click.

"So nothing from Heaven, huh?" Dean asks.

"No," Cas says, sounding concerned. "I hope Anna is alright."

"Do you remember her?" Dean asks curiously. "From before, I mean."

"Yes," Cas says. "I remember everything about Heaven. Frankly, I'm glad to no longer be a part of it."

"Dude, human life sucks," Dean warns. "You of all people should know that."

"Yes, but from here on out, it sucks on my own terms," Cas says stubbornly, and Dean doesn't really have any choice but to grab at his shirt and drag him down, pleased to discover that kissing Cas is no less intense with the guardian link gone. He doesn't know why he gets to have this, how he got to keep this; all he knows is that he has no plans of letting it go.

After a few minutes, Dean makes himself push Cas away and sit up again.

"What's Sam gonna do if he comes down in couple hours' time and finds out I woke up and nobody told him?" he says by way of explanation. He doesn't like it that Sam and Cas are fighting, and he's got no interest in making Sam any madder.  _God forbid I screw up the one healthy relationship that kid has._

"There may be blood," Cas acknowledges. "Do you want me to go and fetch him?"

"Am I allowed out of here?"

"Of course."

"Then no, I'll go to him. Some help'd be nice, though."

Cas wraps an arm around Dean's shoulders to steady him. He guides Dean from the room and up the stairs, tiptoeing past a sleeping Bobby ( _that_ can definitely wait until later). Cas gestures at a door. Dean reaches for the handle, but stops, his fingers brushing over the metal.

"What is it?" Cas asks.

"You saw how Sam was after I got yanked down below," Dean says, keeping his voice low. "He was near crazy, Cas. All this time away from me… he did some healing, you know? That whole 'unhealthily co-dependent' thing we had going on, it got better. He got better. What if I'm doing the wrong thing, walking back into his life? Don't look at me like that," Dean defends, because Cas' expression- one Dean's sure he learned straight from Sam- screams ' _are you really that stupid_?'

"I'm not making this up," Dean insists. "The kid was convinced he couldn't live without me, Cas."

"Sam could live without you in his life, Dean," Cas says, emphasising each word, "but he would prefer you to be in it."

Well.

"Go and talk to your brother," Cas orders him, and Dean gives in- to be honest, he didn't really need much persuading. He's still convinced that Sam's going to punch him in the face or have a breakdown or  _both,_ but Dean'll take that over nothing at all. He wants to see Sam. He wants it so badly that it hurts.

"Should I stay?" Cas asks. Dean considers this and shakes his head.

"Best not," he says. "I'll shout if he gets me in a choke hold."

Cas' lip quirks up, and then he gestures towards the next door over- the room they had shared during Sam's detox. "I'll be in there," he says, and leaves Dean standing in the hallway.

Dean closes his hand on the handle, but hesitates again.  _C'mon, Winchester, you've been tortured in every realm there is. You can handle your pain-in-the-ass brother._ Taking none of his own crap, Dean pushes the door open before he can change his mind.

Sam's awake, sitting on the edge of his bed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He raises his eyes to meet Dean's, and for a second, Dean almost forgets this isn't a dream. But no- his body is solid against the ground, there aren't any feathers plugged into his shoulders, and Sam is definitely looking right at him.

"Thought you were sleeping," Dean says weakly. His earlier hypothesis is proved right- Sam does, in fact, look like shit.

Sam shakes his head. "Tried. Couldn't."

"Gotcha."

They remain in place, looking at each other in silence brought around by having far too much to say and no idea how to say it. All of a sudden, Sam rises on shaking legs and starts to stride towards Dean. Dean closes his eyes, bracing himself for a punch that never comes.

Sam throws his arms around Dean, clutching onto him as tightly as he can, and Dean responds as soon as he's realised what's going on. He presses his face into Sam's shoulder and smells the same stupidly floral washing powder Sam always buys ( _"we're men, Sam, not old women")_ , wraps his arms as tight around Sam's back as they'll go and thinks that, for once, he won't begrudge Sam the hug.

"Wow," Dean says once they've separated, with the kind of laugh designed to hide tears, "would you believe that I actually missed you?"

"At least you knew I was there," Sam says sharply, and Dean's hurt must be evident because Sam deflates. "I didn't mean it like that. I- Cas explained why you had to keep quiet. It… must have been tough for you."

Dean doesn't know how to say ' _it was one of the worst things I've ever had to do'_ without risking one of them actually bursting into tears, so he doesn't try. "You're not mad?" he says instead.

"Mad? Dean, I'm  _furious_. I'm pissed at you, and I'm pissed at Cas, and I'm upset and confused and I feel like the biggest idiot in the whole damn country." Sam pauses. "I hit Cas," he says, sounding ashamed.

"I know."

"It was stupid."

"I know."

Sam punches Dean on the arm. "You know, for an ex-angel, you're still a dick."

"You wouldn't have me any other way," he grins back, and the look on Sam's face says Dean might just be right.

* * *

Readjusting is harder than Dean had envisioned. He used to love eating- he  _still_  loves eating- but he has to do it so damn often that it feels like a nuisance. There's so much to get used to- eating, drinking, sleeping, talking rather than thinking, showering, using the bathroom, even getting dressed (pulling on a new set of clothes feels like pulling on a new skin).

Sam's still mourning Ruby, but every time Dean tries to bring her up he gets a dark look and " _don't_ ". Cas says that at first, Sam had tried arguing that Ruby had no idea what Lilith's real plan was, but Dean guesses denial can only be pushed so far. Ruby's knowledge of the Seals, her relentless driving of Sam to kill Lilith, her habit of disappearing for days on end… there's too much evidence for Ruby to be an innocent party here, and Dean can't begin to imagine how much that betrayal must hurt. He decides to quit pushing Sam about it- if he wants to talk, he'll talk. Until then, Dean's more than happy to pretend Ruby never existed.

Sam, true to his word, is angry. He tries to hide it for the most part, but Dean and Cas both have their fair share of biting remarks thrown their way, followed by shamefaced apologies a few hours later. Talking to Sam is... difficult. There's an awkwardness there that was never there before, a strangeness, and unfortunately, Dean's pretty sure that the only way out is through. Things are easier when Cas or Bobby are around, and Sam spends a lot of time with the latter; Dean's guessing that's his way of reassuring himself that he's not the only person who didn't know Dean was hanging around.

Bobby, for his part, is as unflappable as ever. He's obviously grateful to have Dean back- ever since Sam and Cas quit tripping out and Dean fell back to Earth, that bottle of whiskey has stayed locked in the cupboard- but he doesn't make a big deal of it. He make sure that Dean really is okay, spends a few hours questioning him extensively about angels and Heaven, and proceeds to mock the ever-loving crapout of him from that point on.

"It's a door handle, boy," he says one day, when Dean falters after getting up from a chair. "You remember them, right?"

"Were you trying to  _teleport_?" Cas says, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Dean says defensively. Under Bobby's scrutinising gaze, he wilts. "Maybe. It's been a long time since I had to use a door, okay?"

"Idjit," Bobby mutters good-naturedly, returning to the paper. The universe is slowly returning to how it should be.

* * *

Three days later, Sam walks in on Cas and Dean, which is equally traumatising for everyone involved. Sam appears three hours later wearing his 'Dean Winchester We Are Going To Talk About Your Feelings' expression. Sam's only breached the topic of 'discipline' once, and he didn't get very far with it, but Dean would rather write a freakin' dissertation on blade length than have this particular conversation.

"Dean-" Sam begins.

"I get it," Dean says, raising his hands in surrender. "My bad. Next time, we'll lock the door."

"Dean, I want to talk about you and Cas."

"No, you don't."

"Okay, no, I  _don't,_ but I feel like I have to."

"You really don't," Dean says helpfully, but Sam ignores him. He stares down at his hands instead, fiddling with his fingers, until he blurts something out.

"Cas is a good guy," he says. Dean looks at him oddly.

"Uh, yeah. I know."

"He's saved my ass more times than I can count, he had my back when I needed him… he's a friend, you know? And like, you two being a thing is kinda weird- okay, it's  _really freaking weird-_ but he honestly seems to mean it. I've never seen him talk about anyone the way he talked about you."

"Okay, where is this going?" Dean demands.

"A couple months back, Cas told me- probably told you too, I guess- that he'd never been in a relationship. He hasn't got any experience with any of that crap. So don't, you know… be you."

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean," Sam says in frustration. "I know you, Dean. You're not exactly the 'settling down' type. I don't know what your plans are- I really want you to stay, but it's your decision- but Cas sticking around is kind of one of mine, so… yeah."

"Are you telling me not to fuck and run?" Dean says in disbelief. "You  _do_ know the 'break his heart and I'll break your legs' talk is meant for the person dating your family member, not the other way around, right?"

"Dating?" Sam pounces. Dean groans.

" _Sam_."

"I only-"

"I'm not ditching Cas, okay?" Dean sighs. "And as the last person  _you_ were in love with turned out to be Lucifer's number one fan, you're not allowed to run a Cosmo column just yet."

The Ruby card is a low blow, and Dean knows it, but Sam latches onto an entirely different part of the sentence.

"The person  _I_ was in love with?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"This conversation is over," Dean declares, leaving as quickly as he can. Sam just smiles. Dean has to admit that, despite how different their lives are these days, some things never really change.

* * *

Their break from the real world is shattered five days later. Sam's scrolling through news updates on his laptop when, suddenly, he sits up a little straighter.

"What is it?" Cas asks. Sam looks abashed.

"Nothing," he says.

"Bull," Dean says. "That was your 'I found a case' face."

"It was," Cas agrees.

"It's nothing," Sam protests.

"If it's nothing, tell us what it is," Dean challenges. Sam tries to stare him down, fails, and sighs.

"This guy's post-mortem suggested he died in a head-on collision," Sam says. "In a parked car."

"I'd say that's worth checking out," Dean nods.

"Is now really a good time?" Sam says doubtfully. "I mean, you pretty much  _died_  last week."

"Again," Cas adds.

"Do I look dead to you?" Dean defends himself. "I'm fine- I'm antsy. I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing."

"The case does sound interesting," Cas admits.

"Whose side are you on?" Sam says despairingly.

"C'mon, Sam, we'll go slow," Dean says. "It'll be a training wheels kinda thing."

"We'll ask Bobby," Sam says. Bobby's response is along the lines of ' _if you squirts don't get out from under my feet soon, I'll kill you myself'_ , and so two hours later they find themselves loading up the Impala.

"We're running low on salt," Cas notes as they take stock.

"No problem," Dean says. "We'll borrow some of Bobby's."

"Like hell you will," Bobby grunts. "Go on, get going. Phone me if you need help not dying."

Dean slams the boot lid, and Cas turns to Bobby.

"Thank you for all your help," he says sincerely. Bobby's face softens, almost imperceptibly.

"I should be thanking you for putting up with both of these idjits," he says. "God knows one is bad enough."

"It was good to see you, Bobby," Sam says, but his smile is strained; nobody's forgotten the original reason Bobby 'invited' Sam around. That being said, when Bobby replies "and you," the ferocity of Sam's hug suggests that there are no hard feelings.

"Same to you," Bobby says, releasing Sam to glare at Dean. "Take care now, you hear?"

"Yes sir," Dean says, and finds himself being pulled into a rough hug.

"Good," Bobby says. "Now would y- what the hell is  _that_?"

It's not hard to spot the cause of Bobby's surprise; the old, mud-sprayed cab parked a short distance away from the Impala was definitely not there a minute ago. They glance at each other and move forwards as one, hands closing on various weapons.

The cab is facing away from them, so Dean can only see the back of the driver's head. The cab's bumper is plastered with peeling stickers, most of which Dean ignores, but one catches his eye: a greying angel wing decal, stuck firmly across the middle.

"Would you look at that?" Dean murmurs. "A cab with wings."

"Dean?" Cas frowns.

"Be right back," Dean says, breaking off and jogging to the cab. He pulls open the back door and clambers in before anyone can stop him, ignoring the incredulous shouts coming from behind him.

"Where to?" the driver asks, keeping their face turned away.

"This is A, right?" Dean says. "I'll let you pick B."

The driver chuckles, and when Dean looks out the window he finds that Singer's Salvage Yard has magically melted away. They're on a generic-looking road, nothing but tarmac and sand.

"How's Anna?" Dean asks, leaning on the seat in front of him.

"Ask her yourself," Inias says, a smile in his voice, and a moment later there's a familiar redhead sitting in the passenger seat.

"Dean!" Anna says enthusiastically, hair whipping around as she turns to smile at him. "It's so good to see you."

"You two have been keeping a pretty low profile," Dean accuses. "Am I off of Heaven's Christmas Card list or something?"

"You did rebel against one of the most powerful seraphs known to Heaven," Inias says dryly.

"And he did die," Anna says. "And it was kind of your fault."

Dean shrugs, in a 'what can you do?' style gesture. There's a corner coming up, and the car swings around it without Inias touching the wheel.

"So who runs the joint now?" Dean asks.

"A question we'd all like an answer to," Inias muses. "Ever since the truth about the Seals came out, there's been something of a civil war going on."

"Between who?"

"Well, on one side you've got the pro-apocalypse," Anna says. "Some angels, lots of seraphs, all spearheaded by Raphael."

 _Figures_. "And on the other side?"

"That would be us," Inias says.

"We're leading the resistance," Anna says. "We're the underdogs, granted, but we've got some damn good angels fighting for us."

"I don't get it," Dean frowns. "Why weren't your asses shoved straight to discipline the instant you thought about rebelling?"

"The discipline system has fallen apart," Anna says. "Ever since a certain somebody proved that the forces  _are_ penetrable, it's kinda lost its repute."

"I'm on what I believe you would call 'the shit list'," Inias says mildly, as the car takes a right turn.

"So what's next?" Dean asks. "Take out Raphael?"

"Ideally, yes," Anna says. "But he's an  _archangel_. We're nowhere near strong enough."

"We need more help," Inias agrees.

"Like who?"

"How much do you know about archangels?" Anna asks, firmly back in 'teacher' role. Dean flounders.

"They're dicks?" he offers. "Powerful dicks. Uh, Raphael is one."

"He is," Anna says. "Lucifer is another, but strangely enough, we're not banking on his support. The third is named Michael."

"I think Zachariah mentioned him," Dean says, trying to remember. They're on a long straight section of road now, and Inias rests his hands behind his head.

"Yes, very probably," Inias says. "Michael is arguably the most powerful of all the archangels. He's not actively fighting  _for_ Raphael, but he certainly won't help us. He wants the Seals broken."

"So bad news all around, huh?"

"Not quite," Anna says, a conspiratory grin on her face. "There's a fourth archangel. His name is Gabriel. He walked out on Heaven millennia ago, but we think we've found signs of his presence on Earth. If we can track down Gabriel, talk him into siding with us? We might just stand a chance."

"Damn," Dean whistles. "Is Balthazar-"

"Fighting for us," Inias confirms. "Though it must be said that he's still fairly derogatory towards you."

"Super," Dean mutters. "Well, let me know if I can help with anything."

"Thank you, but we're planning on keeping you as out of Heaven's business as much as we can," Inias says. "You've earned that much."

"Thanks," Dean says gratefully. "But, uh, while we're on the topic- that emotion block stuff Zach put in place is still there. What's with that?"

Anna and Inias exchange a look.

"We don't know," Anna admits. "All we know is that, when Lilith was exorcised to Hell, a lot of things happened that we can't explain."

"Like?"

"Like Sam's demon blood addiction disappearing overnight," she points out, and Dean's honestly not shocked to hear they know about that.  _Friggin' angels._ "Like seven angels spontaneously  _dying_ , and it turning out they were all pro-Lucifer."

"Uriel?"

"Gone," she confirms, and Dean just about resists the urge to fist-pump. "The reports only get stranger- we're talking things that no angel has the power to do. Just look at your memories. It takes a _lot_ to block out that level of trauma. Breaking a wall is easy, but making one? It's a very specialised skill. Zachariah could, but with him gone, the only angel left that I know can do it is Raphael. Do you really see him doing that out of the goodness of his heart?"

"Point taken," Dean admits. "So you really haven't got any idea?"

"There is  _one_  explanation," Anna says.

"Shoot."

"He has returned," Inias says warmly. It takes a few seconds before Dean gets what he's talking about.

"Wait, you mean  _God_?" Dean says in disbelief. "You're telling me  _God_  put up the barriers in my mind?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Uh, yeah!" Dean says. "Why would God care about fixing me up like that?"

"As compensation? A reward?" Anna suggests. "Good things do happen, Dean."

For once in his life, Dean decides to make a sensible decision and not debate religion with two angels. "You said breaking walls is easier than making them?" he says.

"Oh, yes," Anna confirms. "Any angel can do that."

"Cool," he says- then, "break it."

"What?" Anna gasps.

"Dean, is your self-loathing really  _that_ severe?" Inias echoes in disbelief.

"I don't like it," Dean says, folding his arms. "Thinking of what I did, and not feeling anything? It's not right."

"You'd rather be reduced to a gibbering wreck?" Inias challenges. "You'd rather be wracked by hallucinations and flashbacks?"

"Fair point- but tell me this," Dean says. "When Zachariah used to disable my wall or whatever, did he play fair? Was that really how things would be if I never had anything blocked?"

"Yes," Inias says.

"No," Anna says.

"Anna!" Inias objects.

"I'm not going to lie to him," Anna defends. "No, Dean. It's like putting up a dam- the water that hits you when you take it down is stronger than the river would have been. Repressing a guardian's emotions isn't always done for their wellbeing- it's done to give the Host something to hold over them, to scare them with."

"System's fucked," Dean says helpfully.

"You don't know the half of it," Anna sighs. "When an angel chooses to fall, they give their grace over to Heaven. That's what we use to create guardians. The problem  _is_ that grace can be manipulated- the way your powers were limited? Trust me, that wasn't accidental. There are angels that pretty much hand-pick the powers guardians get to have."

"And let me guess," Dean says, "it's way easier to keep a guardian away from their old life if the people they used to care about can't even  _see_ them anymore."

"Exactly," Anna says. "And that's before you even get on to how guardians are assigned. There are so many people who need our help, but we ignore them all. These days, guardians are only really assigned to people who Heaven consider dangerous- they basically act as glorified spies. When I helped set up the system, it was a good thing. A  _pure_ thing. Now, getting a guardian is more of a curse than a blessing."

"Alastair knew," Dean says. "He tried telling me."

"I don't advise you make a habit of listening to demons," Inias says, which ends that line of conversation pretty efficiently.

"But if you took the wall in my head down, and it  _stayed_ down…" Dean says.

"In theory, you could learn to cope," Anna confirms. "It might take some time, but you could be okay again."

"You'd still be looking at a huge amount of trauma," Inias argues. "Nightmares. Depression. Flashbacks in stressful situations."

"I'll take it."

" _Why_?" Inias says despairingly.

"Because that's part of being human," Dean says. "You gotta have the bad parts, or the good parts don't mean a damn thing. I don't like Heaven hitting 'clear history' on my brain. I did things that I regret, but I gotta learn to live with that- so tell the guy upstairs thanks, but no thanks. I want you to take it down."

"Are you sure?" Anna asks gently.

"Yes," Dean says.

"At least let us suppress the discipline memories," Inias tries. "After all you've done for us, it's the least we can do for you."

"What you can do for me is find Gabriel, kick ass, and give me my damn mind back," Dean says. "Capiche?"

Inias looks at Anna unhappily, who shrugs. "It's what he wants," she says.

Inias sighs heavily, but then gives a slight nod. Anna reaches forwards and gently brushes her fingers across Dean's forehead.

There's no sudden attack of emotion. It's more of a gradual seeping, a feeling of general unease in Dean's stomach that gradually differentiates. It takes time, and Dean remains silent while the guilt, pain, sadness, fear, rage and regret all find their individual memories and bind to them. He feels worse with each second that passes, and he almost wishes everything would snap into place at once like when Zachariah used to handle things.

"How do you feel?" Inias says after several minutes have passed.

"Crappy," Dean says, truthfully. "Human. Alive."

Dean stares out the window, trying to adjust to the bloated sensation of all the  _life_ in his head- he's got forty-two years of bonus content that no longer has any interest in lying low and being forgotten. After a while, he finds that he recognises his surroundings. They road they're on is heading straight for Singer's Salvage Yard.

"Taking me back?" he asks.

"I think Cas and Sam would complain if we stole you away for too long," Anna says. "Take care of them, okay? Cas especially. I've missed him a lot these past thirty years."

"Hey, I didn't  _ask_ him to waste his grace like that," Dean says, stomach twisting. He never meant to make Cas give his family up- hell, until very recently, Dean didn't think Cas  _had_  any family left. Suddenly, Balthazar's visits make a lot more sense.

"Waste?" Anna says blankly.

"You don't care that he dropped out of Heaven?" Dean says sceptically.

"He's hardly the first angel to fall. Even I considered it for a while," Anna admits, and Inias' grip tightens fractionally on the wheel. "Inias tried his best to change my mind, and he got most of the way there- and when Castiel was thrown, that did the rest. I was banned from contacting him- we all were- but I knew the pain he was in." There's a bitterness in her voice, and when she speaks again, it flourishes into righteousness. "Now, I'm not going anywhere. Raphael's not getting rid of me that easily."

"Okay, so maybe you don't care that he fell, but..." Dean doesn't know how to word it, so he just looks at Anna hopefully.

"He did it for you," Anna says gently. "That's what bothering you, isn't it?"

Dean doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either. Sometimes, this mind-reading bullshit has its uses.

"Castiel made his choice, and we respect that," Inias says. "Not everybody shares Balthazar's views."

"He's happy," Anna says, and she sounds happy too. "That's all we want for him, Dean."

Dean nods slowly, and Anna smiles. "Anything else?" she asks teasingly.

"Yeah, actually," he says, and both angels look at him questioningly. "Thank you. You two did a lot for me, and I wasn't always easy to do things for."

"No, Dean," Anna says, shaking her head. "Thank  _you._ "

"I don't think I can ever explain you've done for us," Inias says.

"What, killed your boss? Brought you to war?" Dean snorts. "Yeah, you might not want my help next time."

"You showed us _choice_ ," Anna argues. "You showed us that it wasn't hopeless. That it's worth fighting if you really care about something."

"Or someone," Inias adds, almost inaudibly, and Dean absolutely does not miss the way Anna rests her hand on top of his. The car pulls into Singer's Salvage Yard, and Dean winces as Bobby comes into view.

"How pissed are they going to be?" he questions.

"Raphael will seem like a kitten by comparison," Anna teases. Dean glowers and opens the cab door.

"Where are they?" he calls to Bobby, noticing that the Impala's disappeared.

"Trying to chase down a winged cab," Bobby scowls. He fixes his glare on Anna. "You'd better get Dean back to them in one piece, or I will try every damn weapon in my artillery until I find one that leaves holes."

To Bobby's surprise, Anna laughs. "I love people," she says happily. "Take care, Dean."

"And you," Dean says, and with a slight jolt he finds himself in the backseat of the Impala. Sam swears and stamps on the brake, slamming everybody forwards.

"Hey," Dean says, somewhat redundantly, as Sam splutters and pulls the car over.

"What happened?" Cas asks.

"Just catching up with our good pal Inias, that's all," Dean says. "Anna too. Hey, I think they're a thing now."

Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the back of Sam and Cas' seats. Cas has twisted around and is gazing at him with a strange mixture of frustration and relief, his world temporarily full of Dean and nothing else. Dean is speared with sudden guilt.  _The things I watched happen to you…_

But no, it  _wasn't_  Cas. The thing that Dean remembers was nothing more than a creature of cloud and clay, and Raphael didn't even get the eyes right.

As the real Cas silently slips his hand backwards to take Dean's, the guilt mellows ever so slightly and, against his intentions, Dean starts to hope. It's early days, granted, but he can actually see this working out. He's going to have a lot of issues for a very long time- but Hell, he's a hunter. He's a  _human._ It kind of goes with the territory.

"Oh my God, Dean," Sam says, twisting around in the seat. "You have so much to explain that it's not even funny."

Dean's eyes drift down to where Cas' fingers are clasped in his. He looks down at his own body- still very much corporeal despite Sam being there- and then at Sam, who he's having an actual, waking conversation with. Dean looks at the wheel as Sam changes course for the site of the mysterious parked-car-collision (and swears an oath to  _get rid of the iPod_ as soon as possible), and he looks out the window, where the sun is setting like it fully intends to rise in the morning.

"Not right now," Dean says. "After all, we got time."


End file.
